The Last Watchman

by Kevin Partner

  He was tall, wide and imposing. Dressed in tweed jacket and trousers, he stood facing into the room drawing on a short pipe and directing his gaze at the two armchairs.

  “Who in blazes are you?” I said.

  His hooded eyes swivelled lazily in my direction. “Finally, Makepeace. We were beginning to wonder whether you would make it.”

  “We?”

  I could now see a pair of legs belonging to the occupier of my chair, so I stepped round in front of the fire to confront their owner. I did not know him, but I did recognise the figure in Grimes' chair. “Valentina!”

  “Lady Countess would be a more fitting form of address,” the man at the mantelpiece said. “But perhaps we may forgive your rudeness in light of current circumstances.” He spoke slowly, like a man who is used to having the full attention of his audience.

  I ignored him and directed myself to the one person I could identify. “Who are these men?”

  Before she could speak, the first man gave a deep cough and took his pipe from his lips. “Ah, yes. I apologise. Of course. My name, Mr Makepeace, is Holmes.”

  “Sherlock?” I said, hardly noticing as I dropped my coat to the floor.

  He rolled his eyes. “Mycroft. My brother works in different circles.”

  “Yes,” Valentina cut in, “he is too busy with trivial matters of social disgrace to help save the people of London.”

  Holmes drew himself up, put his pipe into his left hand and, somewhat reluctantly it seemed, held out his right. “My name is Mycroft Holmes and I am the Junior Secretary for International Relations.” Somehow, he managed to make the word “junior” sound as though it had given him an instant mouth ulcer.

  “You work for McBride?” I said, knowing as I did so that I was pouring petrol on the flames.

  His lips creased in a mirthless smile. “I work with the minister.”

  I found it hard to believe that this man could be related to the famous Sherlock Holmes. He reminded me, more than anything, of a particularly aged giant tortoise such as those encountered by Darwin on the Galapagos Islands. I was to learn later that he was not a man to be underestimated. Though much less active and vital in his manner than his brother, I discovered that he was at least the intellectual equal of the consulting detective.

  I turned to the man currently occupying my chair—more snake than tortoise—and said, “I do not believe I have had the pleasure.”

  “This is Count Otto von Regensberg,” Valentina said with a lazy gesture. “He is my husband.”

  The shock must have been obvious on my face. “Did you not know she voz married, Herr Makepeace?” the count drawled. “No, she does not—how you say?—publicise it. I am her guilty secret.”

  “Is this true?” I managed finally.

  She gave a curt nod. “He is my husband, but I am the one with noble blood and he would do well to remember it.”

  “He is here at my request, John,” Valentina said, looking up at me with, I fancied, regret in her eyes. “We are the only remaining Guardians of our people—all others have either fled to the other side or are dead. For all his many faults, Otto is loyal to the truce.”

  “Unlike some of my fellows, I do remember the old days. I did not like being hunted,” he said.

  “And why, may I ask, are you all here?”

  It was Holmes who spoke. “Gathered in this room,” he said, gesturing around with obvious distaste, “are the final active players in the game who desire that the truce remain in place. I represent the government, you the human watch, and the countess and her husband are the final Nostri Guardians.”

  “There is one more,” Valentina said quietly.

  “Does the Prime Minister know?” I asked Mycroft.

  He laughed, though there was no jollity in it. “Oh, good heavens no, Mr Makepeace. The truce was agreed by interested parties on both sides, on all sides; the government played almost no role in it. If politicians had been allowed to handle the negotiation, it would never have been concluded. No, McBride was the most senior government official to know of it, and he doesn't even merit a position on the cabinet.”

  Our discussion was halted by the sounds of footsteps on the stairs outside.

  “Did you lock the door after you?” Valentina asked as she and her husband rose from their chairs, daggers drawn. Mycroft remained leaning lazily on the mantelpiece drawing on his pipe.

  I ran out into the little hallway and reached for the door just as it opened. Stepping back, I drew my revolver as Valentina called out.

  “Do not shoot!”

  “Stephan?” I said. It was him. “I thought you'd been abducted by those street ambushers.”

  “Stephan,” Valentina said.

  “Mother,” he responded.

  “Mother?” I was, by this point, entirely at sea.

  Stephan and Valentina embraced tenderly. “Yes, this is my son.”

  “But, but, he's...”

  “Yes, he is Theodore Bryant's personal assistant, and our spy in the organisation.”

  I caught Stephan's eye and realised that the nature of his relationship with Theodore was unknown to his mother. I decided to keep it that way and, in that moment, realised just how trivially unimportant my moral opinion was on this, of all nights.

  “Why are you here?” Valentina asked.

  Stephan walked over to the table and poured himself a shot of whiskey. “I chased John's attackers away—most of them—but it took some time to hunt them all down and discover where they were coming from. Having done so, I returned here in the hope of finding him alive and enquiring how his interview with McBride went. Imagine my surprise and delight to find you all here.”

  The atmosphere in the room was as frosty as an icehouse. I sighed. This was all I needed. As if having the fate of every human being in London on my shoulders wasn't burden enough, I now found myself having to cope with a dysfunctional family of vampires.

  “We don't have time for this,” I said, before turning to Mycroft. “Mr Holmes, why are you here?”

  He took the pipe from his mouth and let out a cloud of aromatic tobacco smoke. “My dear fellow, to ensure that you are fully informed and to tell you that you must strike tonight if London is to be saved.”

  This was exasperating. “I knew that well enough! But what hope do I have? Even if I could rescue Grimes, what could we then do to avert disaster?”

  “You are not alone, John,” Valentina said. “We will help.” She made a sweeping gesture to encompass her husband and son.

  “Forgive me for not seeing how five of us can possibly hope to take on a vampire army.”

  Mycroft gave a brief chuckle. “Four of you. My dear fellow, I am not a fighter. My role is to think. I am not a man of action. But you underestimate yourselves. A small amount of force in the right location and at the right time, can be enough to start an avalanche. Now, you must go. I have a coach waiting to take me, ah, somewhere safe. I will just leave you this.” He pressed a small and perfectly ordinary key into my hand. “I believe you will find the lock that this opens.”

  “The rat is deserting the sinking ship, I think,” Otto said.

  For a moment, Holmes' face clouded, but it passed so quickly I might have thought I'd imagined it had I not been looking at him precisely at that moment. “Perhaps,” he said. “But if you do not succeed, it is essential that at least one person with full knowledge escapes.”

  “How fortunate that we have someone so obviously qualified,” Otto sneered as Holmes pulled on his coat, tipped the remains of his pipe into the fire and strode towards the door.

  “I wish you good luck,” he said. And then he was gone.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “Grove Hospital,” Stephan said.

  “What? No, that was where they escaped from,” I responded.

  Stephan shrugged. “And they are back. I managed to overtake and disable two of your attackers, but the third I allowed to believe he had shaken me off. He led me to the asylum and, M
r Makepeace, I could smell blood. Fresh blood.”

  We gathered around the trap door in Grimes' ceiling as I stood on a chair and offered up the key given to me by Mycroft. Sure enough, it turned and I ducked as the door swung down and I was able to feel around the opening. I pulled a wooden box towards me and almost fell sideways as I took its weight on my arms. Stephan helped me put it down; we dropped it heavily on the bed and opened the lid.

  “It is a veritable arsenal,” Stephan said as he pulled away the oiled rag that had been laid beneath the lid of the crate.

  In the candlelight I could see the glint of brass and steel on the cylindrical shapes that lay there. I also saw blades and small orbs and spikes and studs. It seemed to me that, in this small box that cannot have measured more than two feet by one, lay enough armament to supply a small army.

  “This evens up the odds a little,” I said, though I remembered the speed with which the enemy moved and wondered if I'd have time to level a weapon, let alone fire it.

  Within seconds, Otto and Stephan had emptied the crate onto the bed and were picking up each implement and feeling its heft and balance in the hand.

  “John will select first,” Valentina said, “Grimes was... is... his partner and this is his mission.”

  “I am not sure what I am looking at,” I admitted.

  Stephan held up a stout brass handgun with a muzzle that was short and wide. “Here, John. This will do much damage over a short range—just be sure to be behind it! And take this,” he said as he handed me a vicious looking blade that reminded me of a dinosaur claw. “Aim for the throat.”

  I felt sick to the stomach as I contemplated using these cruel weapons, and then I thought of Grimes, alive and in pain or dead and in need of revenge, and my heart hardened.

  We were disturbed by the sound of feet on the stairs followed by a knock on our fortified door.

  I opened it carefully and saw the ruby face of Derricks in the gap. “Really, Mr Makepeace,” he said, “I ain't exactly an early to bed sort of a bloke, and I'm as keen as the next geezer to 'elp Mr Grimes, but this is gettin' out of 'and. Mrs Derricks is givin' me enough earache about 'aving to sleep downstairs, without me 'aving to get up and let every Tom, Dick or 'arry into the place after midnight.”

  I ignored the odious little man and looked over his shoulder. “Pitt!”

  Inspector Pitt pushed past Derricks who went to protest and then caught sight of Otto's scowling face and thought better of it.

  “I came as soon as I got word,” Pitt said, nodding to the others as they were introduced.

  “Word from whom?” I asked.

  “Mr Mycroft Holmes. I learned that he is my superior. He was there when my operation was shut down.”

  Another mystery. Why would Mycroft want co-operation with Grimes to end? Perhaps he had simply been too junior to be able to prevent it. I imagined how much that would have rankled him.

  “Inspector...” I began.

  “Harry, my name is Harry Pitt.”

  “Harry. We are going into grave danger tonight—do not feel obliged to accompany us.”

  Pitt shrugged. “In for a penny, Mr Makepeace.”

  “John.”

  “Oh, for heaven's sake, can we just go. Zis is not ze time for niceties. He is John, he is Harry, zat is Stephan unt I am Otto. She,” he added, thumbing at Valentina, “is her Ladyship.”

  Otto's outburst brought a hint of a smile from Valentina, but the moment soon passed. “Come,” she said, “gather your weapons, it is time to go.”

  Lunatics

  I had never expected to return to Grove Hospital and, as we passed the empty guard house at the entrance, I felt my skin crawl as unpleasant memories of that night surfaced in my mind. But then I realised I had seen many worse things in the days that followed, and I had, thus far, survived them.

  I could see no way through this night, however. We were five whereas their number was unknown, but certainly much larger. Of our group, I had confidence in Valentina's effectiveness and expected that Otto and Stephan were capable fighters. Pitt, as a policeman, would know how to handle himself in a brawl or when tackling a fleeing prisoner, but I could not guess how he would fair against the sorts of monsters we would be facing tonight. I considered myself little more than baggage with little to contribute and was only here out of a sense of duty both to Grimes and my people. I had little hope that I'd be able to contribute anything meaningful and yet my hand rested upon the snub-nosed weapon tucked inside my ulster and I yearned for a target to aim at.

  A soft drizzle fell on the cobbled road. The streets had been unnaturally quiet, especially with the festive season now approaching. I almost laughed out loud at the contrast between the happy celebration of the saviour's birth and the dark pit of Hell I was walking, unwillingly, into.

  Was Grimes somewhere in the brooding, fire damaged building that loomed up out of the darkness? Perhaps it was merely naive hope, but I believed he was still alive. I wondered if he had an expectation of being rescued. Probably not, considering that his hopes rested on me. And with that thought, we passed up the steps and into the dark entrance.

  I almost sneezed on the pungent, bitter smell of wet burned wood and something I couldn't quite identify. A copper tang.

  From the black corridors came a cry that echoed as if from immeasurable distance. It was the sound of someone in agony and past all hopes of rescue. And there was another. Soon the piteous calls filled our ears so that going forward was like stepping into the heart of a torture chamber. Although every sinew of my being warned me not to approach the source of those sounds, I knew that for this nightmare to end I must do exactly that.

  I found myself leading our little group, with Valentina alongside me, her hand on my arm as she guided us through the maze. I had learned that her night vision was far superior to mine when last we walked these corridors and I allowed her to direct me with little tugs and squeezes on my arm. Her touch was the only humanity I felt in that dark place, ironically.

  Our plan was to find our way to the mortuary. We'd delivered the body of the vampire who'd attacked Grimes there and Valentina suspected that part of the building contained access to a basement. She knew her species—they would seek the comfort of the deep. To me, it seemed as though we were walking, open-eyed, into a tomb.

  Pitt and I carried Davy lamps. He was at the rear and I could see the light from his lamp bouncing from wall to wall as he moved, keeping one step ahead of the darkness that closed in behind him and Stephan. Otto followed myself and Valentina and I imagined his eyes burrowing into my back as we walked. I was never the most sensitive to the feelings of others—I would often find myself perplexed by subtle signs I had missed entirely—but even I knew that Otto loved Valentina and that, perhaps, he saw me as a rival. Though it was dark and cold as we walked towards those echoing cries, that thought warmed me just a little.

  She pulled on my arm to bring me to a halt and I held up my lamp to illuminate our little group. We stood like cavemen around a fire, the darkness pressing us on all sides as the amber light played across our faces.

  “They know we are here,” Valentina said. “They are drawing us in, allowing us to walk into the trap before they close the door behind us.”

  I had suspected it was so. Though I had been prepared for a shape with teeth to leap out at any moment, the further we'd penetrated the hospital's halls, the more I'd felt we were being drawn inside.

  “Do we turn back?” I asked. My heart leapt with hope, though I knew what the answer would be.

  “I do not think so,” Valentina said. “As soon as we made for the entrance, they would attack, I believe. And, in any case, what would we do then? Run through the streets of London with them on our heels? No, I believe we must, how would you put it, play the game? But, John, the decision is yours—you are the leader.”

  “I am?” I said.

  The light from the lamps glinted off her teeth as she smiled. “This is a Watch operation and you, my friend,
are the ranking officer.”

  “I am the only officer.”

  “Be that as it may, the choice is yours.”

  I did not thank her for giving the responsibility to me, but I knew she was quite right. There was no turning back.

  “It frustrates me that I can see we're being played, but I cannot see any alternative other than to see it through, though to do so is to place ourselves in the power of our enemies.”

  Stephan stirred beside his mother. “There is more to this than simply overturning the truce. It’s as if whoever is behind this wishes for us to see something before we are killed. So much of this is still dark to me, but I see no alternative other than to carry on.”

  “What do you think?” Valentina asked Pitt.

  “I'm just a copper,” he said, his pale face full of defiance. “I'll go wherever there's trouble.”

  Valentina began to move off. “It is settled then. Let us get it over with.”

  “Yes, I agree,” muttered Otto from behind me, “in case anyone is interested in vot I think.”

  I cannot say that I recognised any part of the hospital until we reached the morgue. It had been there that my fear had turned into terror as I’d realised, we had walked into a trap. I reflected, as my heart hammered in my chest, that only a fool takes the same action twice and expects a different result.

  The wails had ceased, leaving a deep silence broken only by the irregular dripping of water—at least, I hoped it was water—and the echoes of our footsteps.

  Valentina pulled on my arm and pointed along the corridor that ran alongside the morgue. “See how the floor slopes—I think we shall find a door and steps down.”

  I drew my weapon, anxious now to have a target to aim at, and walked with her along the corridor and down the gentle incline. As she predicted, the way was blocked by a steel door. Unsurprisingly, it opened easily, and I could see a staircase beyond.

  We walked into the darkness as if stepping into the very mouth of Hell, sensing a predatory expectancy in the fetid, bitter air, but there was no sound save our own breathing and our footsteps on the brick stairs.