“Of course we do,” Wilson replied testily. “After all of the trouble you gave me for bringing rope? Well now we have both it and shovels, which are necessitated by our enterprise.”
“Yes, well …” Niles trailed off, at a loss for a pithy reply.
“Are you certain that this must be done?” asked Weyland. He had recovered from his queasiness, but his doubts remained.
“If you choose to remain behind, no man among us will judge you,” asserted Wilson, “but if you must accompany us, then please refrain from constantly questioning our actions. We are set upon this course and must continue it in our pursuit of following the tenets of natural philosophy.”
“Very well then,” said Weyland. “As long as you are sure.”
Wilson gave him a glance and then returned his attention to sorting through the variety of supplies which they had brought, finally coming upon two camp shovels and a length of rope. “Here we are.”
Taking with them the aforementioned equipment, the Fellows shuttered their lantern and crept from the stable.
The moon was half born, and the feeble light was barely sufficient for them to find their way from the inn to the edge of town, where the graveyard lay. Wilson led the way, holding one of the shovels, with the length of rope, slung over his shoulder. Friedrich followed with the second shovel, and the others progressed behind them with Weyland at the tail, sending uneasy looks over his shoulder.
Less ornate than the graveyards of cities, the Ballybrack cemetery was ancient and bounded by a rough stone wall and bordered by the local parish. There stood no gate in its design, but was instead accessed by a sizable gap in the stones.
By the light of the moon, the men worked their way through the yard with minimal effort, passing a number of worn and aged markers, before coming rest at the dark, freshly tilled earth of the graves, beneath which were lain the recently slaughtered men.
The Fellowship stood about the first of these plots for a long moment. Though set upon the task, not a one relished the thought of an exhumation. There was an unspoken understanding among the Fellows, which was only now settling upon them. They were upon a precipice from which they could never return. What had begun as a high-minded pursuit of knowledge was, on this very night, demanding of them a thing which they dare not name.
When each of the men had prepared themselves, either by litany or rational, they turned their gaze upon Friedrich. Friedrich frowned upon seeing this and sighed. “I see. If that is how this will be, then I suppose that I have little choice. I only wish that from time to time, you would deign to undertake for yourselves the arduous work of our enterprise.”
“Certainly we will, my good man. However,” said Niles encouragingly, “look to it as a compliment to your particular constitution that we recommend you for such work.”
“You say this as though I were a Negro. Is that supposed to make me feel better?” When there was no response, he released a sigh of concession. “If I am to do this, then I require the assistance of another man equally blessed with a stout constitution.”
“Certainly you don’t mean me,” said Weyland.
“Of course not. The last I checked there were few things with which we are all in agreement. Prime among these is the rather evident fact that our benefactor, as he likes to call himself, is without contest, the most physically capable of our Fellowship. Perhaps, sir, you will deign to assist me with this endeavor.”
Niles’ face was unreadable in the night, but after a moment, he sighed. “If I must.”
Wilson handed him the spare shovel and then stepped aside as the men attacked the mound of dirt, both apparently seeking to get the chore over with as quickly as possible. When Niles’ spade first penetrated the soil, he stopped short as if struck by some sudden revelation. “You do realize, of course, that we are the only two proper gentlemen present?”
“I do.”
“Is that not odd? Us toiling away while the Plebeians watch on with those godforsaken grins. This is what comes of the Humanitarian, mind you,” said he to Friedrich, as he resumed his labor. “It started with the French, the filthy lot of them and their egalitarian ideals. If you ask me, the world was a much better place when a man knew better than to step above his station …”
“Oh, do shut up!” With the imperative from the German, both men set to the task of silently deepening the hole.
Despite the lack of conversation and the gentlemen’s attempts to be about their task in silence, the act of physical exertion, when coupled with the working of tools against the soil, produced an unavailable symphony of sin which seemed, at times, to fill the night air with an overwhelming cacophony. It was for this reason that Wilson possessed a deepening anxiety, a fear that the townsfolk would come about at any minute and discover them in the midst of the grisly task. He fidgeted as he waited, trying not to make any noise, but failing as he tapped his foot on the earth before surrendering to a compulsion to pace about the site of their task.
“Will you remain still?” pleaded Rufus in an annoyed yet hushed tone.
“I’m sorry … I can’t help it. I’ve never been party to grave robbing before.”
“Get ahold of yourself. First, it is not a robbery, it is an exhumation. Second, there is little reason for us to worry. The townsfolk are all asleep, and they will never discover our actions this evening.”
Any reply that Wilson could have made was forestalled by the thud of a shovel on wood. He turned and gathered the lantern, lowering it slowly to Niles and Friedrich as they first cleared the debris from the wooden box, and then removed the obscuring planks from the object of their pursuit. This last was easier than the former as many of the planks had been broken and collapsed under the weight of six feet of earth, thus allowing a considerable portion of soil to fill the space beneath.
Lowering himself into the grave, Wilson waited as the two aristocrats completed their task and revealed the corpse within. Putting his hand to his nose, he tried to stifle the stench of the man lying in uneasy repose.
Liam had not died well, or gracefully, and although he was mostly intact, by the lantern light, Wilson observed several rends and tears in the man’s flesh where the creatures must have been latched upon him. Despite the smell, he leaned in closely to examine these wounds.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed. “It’s as if the creatures’ suckers had teeth within them, they latched on so ferociously.”
Niles leaned in closely to look. “I say, it does rather look like a series of punctures in a circular fashion.”
Friedrich pulled a journal from his coat and made a quick sketch of the damage. “Interesting. And this correlates to the knowledge and lithographs of the Haploteuthis ferox?”
“It corresponds with much of our knowledge about cephalopod physiognomy,” said Weyland, as he leaned over the hole to comment, before quickly pulling his head back at the sight below.
“Then our hypothesis is confirmed?” asked Rufus.
“Quite decidedly,” said Wilson. “But in our paper we should probably not mention how we came upon this examination. Perhaps it is best that we claim to have acquired the requisite data from the examination of a survivor, coupled with witness accounts which testified to similar injuries among the deceased.”
“It had already crossed my mind,” said Rufus wryly. “Although, I should be surprised if worse infractions have not been committed by members of the Society while in the pursuit of natural philosophy.”
Working hastily, the Fellowship reburied the casket and hurriedly returned to the inn. They had hardly completed the task of removing the traces of their activities from their faces and hands when the first glow of dawn peeked across the horizon. Those who were in need then changed their garments before reconvening with the remainder of the Fellowship to break their fasts, thus preparing to leave with the full rise of the sun.
“I feel that we have compiled the proper evidence for our letter to the Royal Society. Shall we draft it once we have arrived at this cl
ub?”
It was Friedrich who first replied. “This is perhaps best. It will allow some time to ruminate on the matter before composing our content. Draft your letter, Wilson, and we shall sign it as one.”
“Now that this matter is complete,” said Weyland, “what shall we do next? I mean, after the whiskey?”
Journal Five
The Village of the Damned
Entry One
Shortly after the celebration of the new year of 1839, the Adventurer Scholars decided that it was high time to enjoy a brief hiatus. To this end, they found themselves resting at a well-furnished Inn in the town of Plymouth. This respite not only allowed the gentlemen the opportunity to enjoy the relative luxury of private rooms, but it also allowed them to rest their mounts and to address some rather basic logistical needs.
The latter included a process of contacting persons who had been set to the task of listening for rumors of noteworthy oddities. It was thus that Niles Byron corresponded by telegraph with one his friends and colleagues and was informed of the reported disappearance of the entire population of a small farming village on the banks of the river Findhorn.
It was a matter of some curiosity, and Niles considered it a wonder that his contact had heard mention of the event at all, let alone within the first month of the disappearance. Niles began by corresponding with the office of the Inverness-shire Chief Constable, who was reluctant to provide any details of the matter. But such were the wiles of Niles Byron that he was able to secure the confidence of the Constable himself, and after exchanging a number of telegraphs on the topic, was convinced that the subject warranted a closer inspection. He thus gathered his Fellows in the private study of the comfortably posh inn in which they had rested for several days.
“I am sorry, my dear boy,” said Wilson, his brow knit in astonished puzzlement, “did you say the entire settlement?”
Niles nodded. “I did indeed.” He reclined in one of the rather comfortable chairs which occupied the private study.
“An entire village,” said Wilson slowly, unbelievingly, “has disappeared?”
Niles took a puff from his pipe. “Not the village proper, merely every man, woman, and child who lived within it. Intriguing, is it not?”
“Could they have moved,” said Weyland, pacing around the room, “or be visiting on holiday?”
Rufus raised an eyebrow. “That would be rather coincidental, do you not think so; to have an entire population travel on holiday, especially at this time of year? An entire population?”
Weyland turned and spread his hands out before the doubting Rufus. “Is it any less likely that said population would simply vanish into thin air?”
Rufus nodded his concession.
“The constable asked much the same question,” said Niles. “The problem is that there is no place that they would have traveled. At least not that one might easily determine … The report was originally given by a man who was expected by his brother. His brother was a resident of the village, and he was to visit for Christmas. When he arrived, he reportedly found that his brother’s house had been abandoned, but in the most mysterious of ways.”
He paused for a moment to blow a ring of smoke. “Reportedly, there was food in a pot, which had been set aside for the night, and that the fire had long since burned out. There was no sign of his brother or his brother’s family. They had not taken any clothes with them or left any indication that they had intended to leave. The man then sought to question the neighbors and discovered much the same scene. He reported that there was not a living soul in the whole of the village. What is more curious is that it seems that all of the livestock is missing as well. The constable informs me that he was eventually required to investigate, and that he found no evidence to disprove this account. He reports that it is as though the entire population simply disappeared overnight, without a trace.”
Weyland queried his Fellow once more, “Might they have traveled en mass? Perhaps there was an unforeseen matter which caused the villagers to abandon their homes. This could account for the missing livestock as well.”
“No.” It was a simple word made more so by being delivered in the midst of Niles’ stoic calm. “The neighboring villages were questioned, and not a single person among them reported seeing or interacting with any of the missing villagers. Had they done as you suggest, then one would assume that they would make contact with at least one person as they passed through a neighboring village. The racket of the livestock alone would draw attention.”
Friedrich leaned back against the door, stroking his chin. “This is indeed intriguing. Can we be certain that this is not a grand hoax of some sort?”
Niles harrumphed. “I do not see how one can hope to acquire a more veracious verification than that of the constable.”
“Well, then,” said Friedrich, “this does indeed sound promising. An entire population—missing, without a trace, and in violation of all expectations of family and relatives. I dare say that this is exactly the sort of matter which we ought to investigate. It is exactly the type for which we founded our Fellowship! We, of course, lack a specified mythology, but perhaps we will find tell of some obscure lore which might account for these events. This at least will provide us a backdrop upon which to conduct our investigation. Although, the case is interesting enough without one.”
“Where is this place?” Wilson asked.
“Scotland,” said Niles, standing to pull a book off the shelf and thumb through its pages. “It is a small farming village by the name of Dalmigavie. It is located somewhere between Aviemore and Inverness.”
Friedrich cocked his head to one side. “Inverness … why does that sound familiar to me?”
Wilson interrupted before Niles could respond, if indeed he had planned to. “Pardon me if I sound like our dear Niles, but am I supposed to have the slightest clue as to where these places are?”
With a pointed glare for Wilson, Niles handed his book to Friedrich. “Inverness sits on the Moray Firth, across from the Black Isle. Yes, I thought that this landmark would give you an idea as to the geography. It is—for lack of a better term—the capital of the Highlands.”
“I feel as though I should recognize that name from something else,” said Friedrich. “A legend perhaps. Blast it all, I cannot recall the details!”
Niles settled back in his armchair. “Well, if you ever remember, then please be sure to let us know. I am confident that it will be anything but pointless trivia.”
“The highlands, you say?” said Wilson. “That is on the other side of the island. It must be at least eleven hundred Kilometers from Plymouth. It will take some time to get there. This affair strikes me as one which requires immediate investigation.”
“It is closer to nine hundred,” Niles corrected, “but you are quite right, which is why I suggest that we set aside our efforts to be common and secure passage to Inverness immediately. Unfortunately, most quality liners lack proper holds for our horses, and anything which could carry them would be ghastly to say the least.”
Weyland shook his head. “I doubt that quality is a matter for concern at this point. Our primary effort should be for speed, which eliminates both highway and sea travel. I will be sure to suggest to my father that he consider a design that is capable of catering to the full needs of a gentleman, but until then, how do we best proceed? It will be expensive, but it may be best to simply hire an air barge for the full trip.”
He glanced around the room. Finding no objection present, he continued, "There are enough freelance captains that we ought to be able to pull one away from his normal route, and the crew should be welcome to the idea of earning their wage without performing the labor of hauling goods. Furthermore, a few extra men and a few horses should be far less than their normal payload. I suspect that we can convince a captain to take on a full load of fuel, and to push the barge at full power for as long as the engine is capable. If we navigate at night, without the need to refuel, and so long as we have fav
orable winds, we ought to make the hop in a day and a half.
“Two at the most, regardless of which of your estimations are correct. That is, assuming that the Sky Marshals have not placed any restrictions upon the available routes, and that our captain is at liberty to freely plot a course. I dare say, however, that it will not be cheap.”
Niles laughed. “That is not an issue. A savvy captain will recognize the opportunity to be owed a favor by a Weyland and an Emerson. And if not, well then I will draw for him a promissory note, which is sure to change his opinion. Freelancers are beholden to neither man nor consortium. They follow the profit of free enterprise, a remarkable concept indeed, and we are sure to find one who will be more than happy to accept a profitable contract which lacks the typical assumption of liability.”
Still not entirely convinced, Rufus folded his arms and frowned. “Is the expected cost worth the effort? We have thus far avoided sky travel.”
“I would say so,” pronounced Weyland. “In the best of conditions, we might expect to spend more than a month if we were to travel by ground. It seems to me as though time may be factor of importance in this investigation.”
The conversation continued as any speculation must, with vigor lacking substance. Each participant put forth a case for one point or another, but in the end, it was all for not, because none could answer for the hypothetical captain, but in the end, the matter was resolved with consensus.
Entry Two
Once the means of the journey were decided, preparations were quickly put to order. The Fellows were required to split their voyage, traveling first from Plymouth to London. Upon arriving at the great London Harbor, they had many more ears to hear their offer. It was not long before a freelancer took them upon their word, and after receiving a sizable note of promise, the Adventurer Scholars boarded a barge which set full clip against the wind and into the cold night on course for the Highlands of Scotland.
The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0) Page 15