by Avell Kro
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either used fictitiously
or products of the author’s imagination. This is a work of fiction solely for telling a good yarn. So
relax and enjoy!
The Guild Chronicles, All characters, situations worlds are part of the Non-Newtonian Universe and
are Copyright Claymore Ulfberht & Xiphos LLC 2017
Cover Art by Covers by Christian
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To Mom who always believed.
Foreword
Fredrick “Dolly” Williamson is a young detective in the Detective Branch at Scotland Yard. When
called on to investigate the murder of an investment banker, he is reminded of past encounters
with the occult. Dolly requests help from Sister Rose Caldwell, an expert in the mystical arts. The
body count continues to rise and the mystery deepens after the enigmatic Necronist Guild provide
clues to the origins of the murderer.
A tightly wound thriller set in an alternative 19th century, where powerful guilds use mechanical
power, occult rituals, and alchemy to vie for influence in the courts of Queen Victoria, and the ever-
youthful Emperor Napoleon.
The untold tales of “Dolly” Williamson is an occult steampunk thriller and the prequel to The Guild
Chronicles, a steampunk fantasy book series.
Special Thanks
Editing by Suze Solari
Thanks to Beta Readers
Heidi Wags
Christianna Johnson
Sunday the 6th of June
8:00 AM 217 Kings Road Belgravia
Dolly walked to the scene of the murder with the constable that roused him in the early hours of
Sunday morning. This time of day, the streets of London were peaceful. Later the residents would
emerge from their homes, stoke the coal beds of steam carriages, hitch up horses to surreys and
ride to church or the park. Except for the occasional clip clop of a horse-drawn carriage or the
whine and chug of a steam-driven vehicle making an early delivery, the streets felt tranquil, a rare
occurrence. This was London, the world’s largest city, the capital of the greatest empire, and home
to over three million souls.
Hundreds of new inhabitants came to the city every day, rural folk and the Immigrants all looking
for factory work and a better life. To help deal with the chaos of the fastest growing city on the
planet the Home Secretary enlisted Dolly and his fel ow detectives with the responsibility for crime
detection, a novel concept that had proven its merit by thwarting conspiracies and catching
villains that in the past would have gone unpunished.
Fredrick Adolphus “Dolly” Williamson made sergeant at twenty-eight years of age. Other men had
achieved the position in the Metropolitan Police Department earlier than Dol y, but he was the
youngest sergeant of the ten men serving in the special detective branch of the Metropolitan Police
Service.
More than the day it was the neighborhood that made this walk serene; King’s Road in Belgravia,
as far away from the street swarming with new migrants and country folk seeking to make their
way in the evolving world. Rarely was his services needed in this part of town.
The crime scene was the townhouse of Sir Francis Chilton first baronet and the managing partner
in the investment bank Chilton, Chilton, Strathmore & Owens. Chilton and his partners were men
of exceptional power, he was the principal partner of an enterprise where even kings went to
borrow money. The Chilton's had the finances that could fund countries going to war or the
creation of entire industries like those of the Mechanists. The only financier’s in London that may
have more money under management were the Rothchilds, but they had far less influence.
In front of Chilton’s townhouse were two Peelers managing the modest crowd that had gathered;
including a correspondent from the Guardian, Gerald Welch. No doubt some copper tipped the
newspaper man.
Dol y pushed past the growing crowd and entered the home, in the foyer was the beat sergeant
talking with one of the household servants. Dolly walked up to him.
“Detective Sergeant Williamson,” declared the Sergeant with a tone of respect and relief.
“Sergeant,” Dolly replied looking to him for his report of the situation. Dolly was now the ranking officer on the scene.
“This here is Mr. Cooper, the Head Butler, he found Sir Francis this morning,” answered the beat
Sergeant. Dolly turned to the butler and said, “I’ll have questions for you, later," Dolly then spoke
to the Sergeant. “I want to see the scene first.”
The detective followed the sergeant down the hallway and as he turned right into the private study,
a cadaver was in the center of the room. A dead man unlike any corpse the detective had seen.
The body was kneeling on the floor, arched back with its arms splayed out, chest up. A deceased
male, naked above the waistline. A white shirt and dinner jacket folded neatly and placed on one of
the overstuffed chairs beside the body. What was most disturbing was the state of the body, it was
gray with skin like clay dried in the sun; cracked and leathery. This sight brought him back to the
horror he saw four years ago.
He circled the body noting no trace of a struggle, no blood spatter or gun shots. Jutting from the rib
cage of the deceased man was a remarkable object. A strange ornate piece of wood about a foot
long, decorated with odd markings, small bones, feathers, and beads, almost like a primitive
magician’s wand. The object penetrated his breast, but presented no evidence to why all the
victim's vital fluids were gone.
Dol y paced around the chamber and sniffed the air to sense if there was solvent or chemical
residue that may have caused the strange condition of the body. At first glimpse, it appeared to be
a burned corpse, but it did not have the smell of a burned body, rather it had no smell. Scenes
from the past kept sneaking into his mind, visions of a man on fire but not dying, laughing and not
burning. It had been months since that fellow had visited him in his nightmares and years since
the episode.
He glanced over to the constable by the exit, “send in the Butler.” Dolly needed help to understand if
things were missing or out of place.
The policeman returned with Mr. Cooper. Upon viewing the scene Mr. Cooper was overcome with
grief. “Do you think he suffered?”
Of course, he suffered he looks like an overdone hen, Dolly thought, instead he asked a
question.“How long have you worked here Mr. Cooper?” Dol y was now on his hands and knees
peering at the carpet below the body for any traces of fluids or evidence.
"I have served at the townhouse for twenty-four years," Cooper replied.
“What causes you to believe the body is your employer?” Dolly asked looking at Cooper while
going to his feet.
“The clothing, sir, like I said I have been in service to Sir Francis for a long time. I know every
stitch of clothing he owns,” said the butler.
“And this is just how you found him. You touched nothing; you did not fold up the shirt,” asked the detective.
“No sir, I have not stepped into the room,”
“Please come in and look around the office. Do
es anything look out of place or missing?” The
butler took a deep breath to steady himself then stepped into the room as if he were taking the
step off a cliff.
The old man paced the room. Dolly observed him, looking for any telling behavior.
“From what I can see it all looks right,” said Cooper. Dolly doubted he could notice anything the
man kept looking back, and the mummified remains of Sir Lester, like he would jump up or talk.
“Mr. Cooper when was the last time you saw Sir Francis alive?”
“Now that is the odd thing detective. I have not seen him since Friday morning and I did not
expect to see him for a fortnight as the family is at the estate this time of year. He showed up
unannounced and without staff late Thursday evening. All alone. I asked him if I should call for
temporary help and he said no. That he was in London only for a short time and had no need to
open the house.”
“So, you saw him Friday Morning?” reiterated the detective.
“Yes, I served him breakfast then he told me and Mrs. Blake to take Friday and Saturday off as he
would not be returning after going into the office.”
Dol y stepped to the hall and signaled for the constable to come over to where he and the butler
stood. He had been to countless crime scenes and only one had the same eerie feel that this one
did. Dolly had kept in touch with the other witness that knew what happened in that cellar four
years ago, but he kept contact to a minimum. Seeing her while comforting was also a reminder to
him of that night of terror. He wouldn’t try to go it alone again, better to reach out now and make
sure that there was nothing out of ordinary and if it where she could point him in the right
direction.
“Constable.”
“Yes, Detective,"
“Run a message over to the Yard.”
Cooper interrupted, “Detective the house has its own wire-type. You can message them from here.
Its.. Its behind Sir Francis’s desk,"
Of course, they have wire-type, thought Dolly, “Thank you Mr. Cooper could you help the constable
get a wire over to Scotland Yard. I need a photographer to come to this address and constables to
go fetch Rose Caldwell and bring her here. Tel them to look for her in Bethnal Green.
* * *
10:00 AM The Hare and Hound, Bethnal Green
Rose Caldwell looked up when she heard the tinkle of a small bell. She was at the Hare and Hounds Public House and it was now quiet enough in the pub to hear the doorbell ring when the door
opened. That was because it was early in the morning and she had been there all night. When
Rose arrived on Saturday night, the pub was full of a raucous group of locals drinking and having a
good time. Now Rose like the few other patrons of the pub were not eager to see the silhouettes of
two constables or the bright mid-morning light come through the door of the public-house.
The constables approached the bar. The barkeep was connecting one of those new-fangled draft
handle systems to a wooden keg. Instead of pounding in a wooden tap and gravity feeding the ale, a
hand pump was put into the bung. He stopped work and was toweling off his hands as his
conversed with the pair of cops. The man behind the bar pointed at her and all three of the men's
eyes went to Rose.
The two constables approached her table and stood over her returning her stare, the senior officer
broke the silence “You Rose Caldwel ?”
That question was usually followed by vitriol and accusations of the questioner.
The last few days had been particularly hard on her and so Ms. Caldwel had been in her drinks for
some time. Drink wasn’t the solution to her problems but was a common choice in her family
when answers didn’t come easy. The trouble she faced were not metaphysical but the common one
most folks in this part of town had, how to pay next month's rent. Like her father and uncles, she
only made matters worse by spending what little she had on washing her problems out of her
mind for a few hours. “I wish I weren’t,” Rose answered.
“Sergeant Williamson asked us to fetch you.” The constable that addressed her turned to his
partner “go see if the barkeep has a coffee for the lady,” The other Bobbie walked back to the bar.
Rose picked up a wine bottle on the table and tipped it over her cup hoping that there was wine
left. There was none. She looked at the cop that spoke and asked, “What’s this about?”
The constable glared. “Miss we’re here to collect you and take you over to Saint James to meet the
Detective,” said the constable. Rose had not talked with Dolly in a year. After the incident at Father
Milton’s Rectory, she had regular meetings with him, the kind of get-together that war veterans
had, not to share war stories but to be with someone that understood and had the same view of
the world. When he didn’t call anymore, she took it as he had moved on, she missed him but the
thought of him moving on with his life made her feel better about losing his company.
“He says he doesn’t have any coffee,” yelled the constable at the bar.
“Is he alright?” asked Rose.
“Fine miss. He is at a crime scene and asked for you,” said the Bobbie.
Sister Rose stood up but had to steady herself as she was still drunk and had not been on her feet
for hours.
The Constable grabbed Rose’s arm to help steady her and said, “Let’s go.”
* * *
11:30 AM 217 Kings Road Belgravia
Sister Rose awoke in the rear of the black maria. Her head throbbing in turn with the chugging of
the drive turbines. Unsure of when she dozed off or why she was in the back of a police wagon
again, she worked to piece together the events from the previous night. When the vehicle came to
a halt she peered out the rear window and to her surprise, she was on the street not in the
courtyard of the local Jail. The bobby opened the door “This way Miss Caldwell.” Her mouth was
parched. Her short slumber in the back of the police wagon had left her one foot in a drunk, the
other in a roaring hangover. Her head was in a clouded funk struggling to piece together how she
got to where she was. After she stepped down from the carriage, she stretched her back and
arms, to throw away the soreness. As clarity set in, she realized she was in Eaton Square and that
people were staring at her.
Sister Rose was used to getting looks. Rose was fetching, with short black hair rather than long
hair put up, and that was just the start of her style that bucked current fashion rules. As usual, she
wore riding pants and boots, Rose was never in skirts and bustles. Her blouse was white, wel
mostly white; dingy and crumpled from a night of boozing. Rather than staring back at all the
onlookers in defiance to the disapproving looks they gave she reached into the leather purse on
her belt and drew out sun spectacles. The darkened round lens spared her eyes from the glare of
sun and society.
She could not conceive who’s home she was standing before. There was a substantial crowd
outside, Passersby and gawkers, mostly society types mixed in were a few columnists and several
photographers. One shot a picture the minute he recognized Rose.
Walking to the door of the townhouse a smile came to her face as she saw Dolly Williamson
waiting at the transom for her, but he was scowling, or at least she thou
ght he was frowning under
his thick mustache. Dolly wasn’t wearing his usual bowler hat but was finely dressed for an
average English bloke, wearing contrasting plaid pants and waistcoat with a lightweight summer
coat. Always trying to be a bit fashionable, his collar was adorned with a wide black silk tie that
was tied in a loose bow. He looked down at Rose, he stood around five foot ten nearly a foot taller
than Rose.
“For Pete’s sake constable, you brought Rose Caldwell in a police wagon to the front door,”
bemoaned Detective Williamson. The constable went pale. “This will be in every Daily in London
now,” the detective finished ushering her into the home.
Dol y turned to Rose and grinned as he greeted her. “Thanks for taking the time to come and slum
with me, Were you with the queen at Buckingham or Windsor?”
Dolly put his palm on Rose’s back and ushered her toward the crime location.
“Swanky digs Detective,” Rose mentioned taking in the opulence.
“Yes, you are in the Belgravia residence of Sir Francis Chilton,”
“The banker?” said Rose, as they walked through the marble-tiled foyer past the grand stairwel to
enter the study.
“and this is Sir Francis” Dolly answered, as they arrived at the doorway of the study he gestured to
the withered corpse on the expensive oriental rug.
Rose took in the office. It was an affluent man’s study, rich exotic wood paneled the walls. A large
writing desk dominated the room with two overstuffed leather armchairs facing the desk. Behind
the desk was a credenza with a stock tape clacker and a type wire keyset. Most people Rose knew
couldn’t even write let alone operate or own one of Mr. House’s type wire sets. The machine
looked like a small piano with twenty-eight keys to type a message that would go over Electric
Telegraph Company wires to another wire-type set. Upon arrival, the message would print out
above the keyboard via an array of brass mechanical components driving a daisy wheel to transfer
a message to paper.
She removed her sun spectacles then took a leather instrument roll off her belt. Walking past the
body she set the roll on the exquisite tortoise shell desk and unlocked the two clasps that kept it