The Black Crow Conspiracy

by Christopher Edge

  In her mind, Penelope could see the pages of the British newspapers, their stories all feeding the same hatred of Germany. The young sailor turned towards Monty again, his blue eyes shining with a new passion.

  “But when I read your stories, Mr Flinch, I saw for myself the lies I had been told. In the pages of The Penny Dreadful, I discovered a land filled with heroes: men of valour who dare to face the darkness that lurks beyond this mortal realm, and where scoundrels pay the price for their villainy. I have also heard tell of your own exploits, sir – how you solved the inexplicable Bedlam mystery, and even captured the phantom of the Theatre Royal.” Amsel’s gaze darkened again, a shadow passing across his face. “And I knew that only Montgomery Flinch would be able to save me from this nightmare that I found myself trapped in.”

  “But why write anonymously?” Penelope pressed him. “The only clue as to your identity is a sketch of a black crow?”

  The young sailor’s gaze darted nervously in the direction of the embassy, the clink of glasses and the chatter of conversation carrying through the trees.

  “I was afraid,” he replied simply. “If my letter had been intercepted and it was discovered that I was giving aid to the enemy, then my life would have been forfeit. I sketched the raven in the shadow of the Tower of London on the very night that we were all sent to steal the Crown Jewels. In German, my name Amsel means blackbird, so with this sketch I thought that the genius of Montgomery Flinch would be able to find me.” He glanced up at Monty again. “And I was right.”

  Penelope frowned. She was growing weary now of how the fictional Flinch took the credit for her own endeavours.

  “But why did you send only one letter?” She sighed in exasperation. “What did you possibly think that Montgomery Flinch could achieve with this?”

  The German sea cadet furrowed his brow in reply.

  “I thought that by exposing their plot in the pages of The Penny Dreadful I would put an end to it at last, but if anything it has only accelerated their scheme. I tried to write more letters – to warn you that their plans proceeded apace, but since the revelations in the paper they have been watching us all like hawks. As I have faltered, their suspicions have grown and now I have been excluded from any further missions until my loyalty to the Fatherland can be proved.”

  “I don’t understand,” Monty butted in. “You talk of plots and schemes and claim you stole the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London itself, but how on earth did you achieve such a feat?” He glared at Amsel’s sallow complexion with a doubtful eye. “You’re no galloping ghost, but flesh and blood just like Penelope and me.”

  Turning away from the embassy, Amsel’s blue eyes gleamed in the gathering gloom.

  “Let me show you,” he said.

  XVIII

  Penelope trailed her fingers along the blackboard, the dusty lines that she left marking her path as she followed Amsel along the corridor. In his hand, the young sailor gripped his new-fangled torch, its flickering light casting strange shadows across the equations that had been chalked there. As they crept quietly across the tiled floor, Penny could feel a distant tremor beneath her fingers, a low buzzing sound growing slowly louder as they neared the end of the corridor.

  “What is that infernal noise?” Monty muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “It sounds as if they have a storeroom full of wasps down here.”

  Penelope frowned. This was the same sound that she had heard throbbing through the brick walls of the Society only two nights before. Now, as the three of them skulked through the bowels of the building, she was about to uncover its source.

  It had been easy enough to reach this point. Sea Cadet Amsel’s uniform and bearing had brought no questions as he escorted Monty and Penelope through the German Embassy. Giving the glittering ballroom a wide berth, he had led them to the same side room that Penelope had discovered by chance. Opening the wardrobe, she had seen the clothes of the radiant boys still hanging on their rails, but Amsel just brushed these to one side as he ushered them into the wardrobe, ignoring Monty’s protests as he led them down into the darkness.

  Now in answer to Monty’s muttered question, Amsel glanced back over his shoulder. “That is the sound of the generator,” he replied. “The spark that Professor Röntgen needs for his inhuman experiments.”

  Shining his torch, he illuminated a door at the corridor’s end. Unlike the others that they had passed, this door was made from solid steel, the sign screwed into it written in a German script:

  GEFAHR! WENN DAS ROTE LICHT LEUCHTET, BETRETEN VERBOTEN.

  Next to the door, an electric lantern was fixed to the wall, two sliding panels of glass masking the bulb. One of these was coloured red, the other green.

  “Are we not in London any more?” Monty grumbled. “What does this blasted sign say?”

  “Danger,” the German sailor translated. “When the red light is on, entry is strictly prohibited.”

  As Amsel opened the steel door with a grunt of effort, Penny noted with relief that it was the green panel that was currently slid into position, Professor Röntgen’s presence at the reception seemingly preventing him from conducting any more experiments tonight.

  The sailor flicked a light switch and, as this illuminated the room, Penelope stepped forward to join him, letting out a low gasp of surprise as she took in her surroundings. She was standing in a large chamber, larger even than the grand lecture room in which she had first set eyes on Professor Röntgen.

  In the centre of the room, two rows of ten chairs were set in parallel lines and although their arrangement reminded Penelope of the theatre, the design of these appeared more suited to a Bedlam cell. Heavy leather straps hung from the armrests, whilst similar restraints were fixed to the foremost legs of each chair, their construction seeking to confine completely whoever chose to sit in them.

  Above the chairs, an array of peculiarly-shaped glass tubes was suspended from the ceiling. Induction coils and uranium interrupters connected the tubes, whilst rubber-insulated cables ran from this apparatus along the ceiling and down the walls, skirting past the chairs to lead to a lead-lined box that stood facing them on the other side of the chamber. This mysterious box was over seven feet high and approximately the same width. A room within a room, but for what purpose Penelope could not say.

  A sudden clattering sound caused Penny to turn in alarm. Her anxiety quickly turned to annoyance as she saw Monty peering inside a tall wooden closet, a lead-lined apron crumpled on the floor beside him. As he stooped to retrieve it, he glanced up apologetically.

  “I thought there might be another way out of here,” he said, placing the apron back on its hanger inside the closet. With a weary sigh, Penelope turned back to face Amsel.

  “What is this place?” she asked him.

  “It is a torture chamber,” the young sailor replied, a look of animal pain in his eyes. “This is where Professor Röntgen turns men into ghosts.”

  At this statement, Monty closed the closet door with a shudder.

  “What do you mean?” he enquired, eyeing the leather straps and restraints dangling from the chairs with a nervous air. “Is he some kind of Dr Frankenstein?”

  “He is more of a monster,” Amsel replied darkly. Then in a bitter voice he began to recount the events that had brought him to this place. “I am a Sea Cadet on His Majesty’s Yacht Hohenzollern – the pride of the German fleet. On the announcement of King Edward the Seventh’s coronation, the Kaiser sailed for London and, when we berthed here, he selected twenty of the sea cadets to form a shore party to carry out a mission for the glory of the Reich. I made sure that I was chosen – eager to serve my Emperor at last.” He shook his head angrily. “What a fool I was.”

  The young sailor glanced around the chamber, Penny following his gaze as he stared at the rows of empty chairs.

  “This is where they brought us. Down into the depths of this laboratory, hidden away from human sight. I know why now, of course – they could not let anyone se
e the blasphemy that they would create here. We were the youngest of the ship’s crew, more used to feeling the wind on our faces, now locked inside this airless place while the light outside glowed red.” He turned back to face Penelope, his eyes glistening as he relived the memory. “Professor Röntgen inspected us like laboratory rats – probing and measuring us, even connecting our bodies to strange machines that listened to our blood. And then when he was finally satisfied as to our fitness for his experiment, he instructed us to sit in these chairs that you see here.”

  With an absent-minded gesture, Amsel rubbed his wrists as if he could still feel the straps chafing his skin.

  “He said it wouldn’t hurt,” he said sullenly, his voice dropping to a low whisper, more like a child than a sailor of the Imperial German Navy. “He said that the straps were there to protect us.” He stared up at Penny, his eyes black with betrayal. “He lied.”

  Amsel fell silent for a moment, as if the memories flickering across his features were too painful to express. Penelope held his gaze, seeing the depths of suffering that lurked there.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, her own voice an echoing whisper.

  “Once Professor Röntgen had made sure that the straps were secure, he retreated inside that lead-lined box to throw the switch that would bring his infernal machine to life.” Amsel raised his gaze to the curious arrangement of tubes above their heads. “There came a sudden buzzing sound like thousands of bees hammering at the glass, but all I could see was the light glowing green.” His hands trembled, reliving every moment of the experience again. “And then I felt the pain.”

  “It could only have lasted moments, but it felt like a lifetime. It was as though the room was flooded with an invisible fire. I heard the screams of my comrades, too painful to bear – my fellow sea cadets reduced to snivelling wrecks in mere seconds. As the buzzing ceased and the luminescent glow slowly faded from the glass, I looked down at my skin to see the same radiant fire running through my veins.” He lifted his hand in front of his face. “Panicking, I tried to free myself and somehow found that I could slip from the restraints that held me without a struggle. I saw my comrades do the same, their limbs melting through the leather straps as they hauled themselves upright, every face a glowing green mask of pain.”

  Penelope and Monty listened aghast, the faint buzz of the generator the only sound that could be heard as the young sailor continued his story.

  “When Professor Röntgen emerged from the safety of his antechamber, he clapped his hands together in delight. ‘It worked!’ he cried, his dark eyes ablaze as we stood there with a living fire burning in our veins. Then he told us what he had done to us – how his machine had made us into ghosts of men.

  “From this moment on, we were kept prisoners in this laboratory – unwilling subjects for the professor’s endless experiments. At first, their effects only lasted for mere minutes – the strange glow quickly fading from our skin – but as Professor Röntgen tinkered with his infernal equipment the effects endured for longer with every experiment. We listened in fear as he increased the voltage of the electrical current and knew that when he next flicked the switch the pain would be even worse than the last time. I watched my friends, their touch turned to living fire as they tried to control this curse that had been cast upon us.”

  Amsel turned to face Penelope, his glistening gaze unable to disguise his distress.

  “Professor Röntgen said that we alone were young enough to bear the strain of his experiments. That on the Kaiser’s orders, he was transforming us into the ultimate fighting machine. Under his tutelage, he showed us how we could use our minds to control this accursed gift and then sent us out across London to carry out the Kaiser’s commands: spying on government papers in Whitehall, stealing the Crown Jewels, even kidnapping the King.”

  Before Amsel could explain further, the distant sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.

  “Quick,” he said, turning in alarm. “Someone is coming.”

  Penelope looked around in desperation, no sign of any place to hide as the footsteps echoed ever closer. She could hear the sound of German voices: the low rumble of Professor Röntgen’s words answered by the clipped tones of the Kaiser. Amsel paled, their discovery imminent.

  With a low whimper of fear, Monty clambered inside the closet. With fumbling fingers he wrapped himself in the folds of the aprons hanging there in a desperate attempt at disguise. Monty’s bulk meant there was no room for Penny to hide there as well, the actor meeting her gaze with a shame-faced look of apology. Darting forward, she closed the closet door on Monty with a click and then turned to try to find her own hiding place.

  “How about the box?” she hissed, catching hold of Amsel’s arm to gesture to its lead-lined walls.

  The young sailor shook his head, his own gaze desperately searching for sanctuary.

  “If Röntgen is here to perform his experiments, then that is the last place we should hide.” He dragged Penny towards a packing crate, standing in the shadows of the antechamber. “This was used to transport equipment from the Hohenzollern.” Lifting the lid, he gestured for her to climb inside. “It is our only chance.”

  There was no time for Penelope to argue, the nearing voices announcing their imminent arrival. She clambered inside the packing crate, covering herself with the heavy blankets left as ballast at the bottom of the case. Then the young sailor climbed in beside her, silently drawing the lid of the crate over them both as the sound of footsteps entered the room.

  They crouched there together, uncomfortably close, not even daring to breathe. Turning her head, Penelope peered through a crack in the packing case, trying to make out the identities of the figures still entering the room. She could see Professor Röntgen’s rail-thin frame, his upright mane of unruly black hair dwarfing the figure of his Emperor. The Kaiser’s personal guards stood sentry behind him, Wilhelm’s lip curling in satisfaction as a platoon of black-coated boys marched into the room.

  “Zurück zu Ihren Posten!” he barked. “Ihre letzte Mission für den Ruhm des Deutschen Kaiserreiches ist es, die Britische Krone gefangen zu nehmen.”

  Penelope’s grasp of German was even worse than her French, the Emperor’s words holding no meaning for her.

  “What is he saying?” she murmured softly, angling her mouth towards Amsel’s ear in the cramped confines of the packing case.

  “Their final mission,” the sailor replied, his own voice barely a whisper, “is to capture the British throne for the glory of the Imperial German Empire.”

  Turning back, Penelope watched as the radiant boys saluted in reply and then marched to take their places in the empty chairs. Next to her, she felt Amsel stiffen with fear, but her own heart pounded with anticipation. Now she would see for herself the secrets of Röntgen’s invisible rays.

  But Penelope’s sense of excitement was short-lived, as through the crack in the crate she saw the professor approach the store cupboard where Monty was hiding. She heard the sound of its door opening followed by a guttural exclamation.

  “Ach du meine Güte!”

  The Kaiser’s guards rushed forward as Röntgen fell back in surprise, Monty emerging from the closet with a sheepish smile.

  “Ah,” he said, glancing nervously at the armed guards. “I appear to have taken a wrong turn. Would one of you gentlemen be kind enough to point me in the direction of the Emperor’s reception?”

  XIX

  “It is him!” Professor Röntgen exclaimed as the guards seized hold of Monty. “The man I was telling you about, Your Highness.” Röntgen peered inside the dark cupboard, pulling back the aprons hanging there to reveal its furthest recesses. “But there is no sign of the girl.” He turned back to face Monty. “Where is she?”

  “Steady on,” Monty protested, struggling to maintain his composure as the Kaiser’s guards held him captive. “There is no need to treat an honoured guest in this way. Surely, sir, you remember me from the reception?”


  “I remember you,” Professor Röntgen replied, meeting Monty’s gaze with a suspicious stare. “But what are you doing in my laboratory and where is your niece?”

  From her hiding place, Penelope held her breath, fearful that he would give them all away.

  “My niece Penelope was feeling rather unwell,” Monty replied. “I escorted her outside to hail a hansom cab, tipping the driver handsomely to return her home safely. But when I attempted to return to the reception, I think I must have taken a wrong turn and, after all manner of diversions, I found myself in this place.” He wrung his face into a grateful smile. “Thank goodness you have found me.”

  The Kaiser stepped forward, his upturned moustache quivering with outrage.

  “Do you really expect me to believe this, Mr Flinch? I am not one of your credulous readers. Now, tell me,” he said, clutching the hilt of his sword with a malevolent air. “What really brought you here this evening?”

  Monty quailed in the face of the Kaiser’s iron glare.

  “I swear that I found my way here by mistake,” he insisted. “But I must admit that when I found this laboratory, I was somewhat intrigued. My compatriot, Mr Herbert George Wells, has had great success of late with his stories of scientific romance, and I saw here the chance to find my own inspiration. When I heard your footsteps approaching, I was unsure as to how my trespass would be received, so I took the precaution of hiding myself in this wardrobe.” Monty raised his gaze to the array of gleaming tubes and coils suspended above their heads. “I so wanted to see what wondrous discoveries you have made here, professor.”

  Professor Röntgen scowled darkly at Monty’s impertinence, but the Kaiser just laughed out loud.

  “Your audacity astounds me, Mr Flinch – if only more of your compatriots had the daring you have shown, then Britain would not be in need of a saviour to restore the greatness that my grandmother bestowed. We will have to furnish you tonight with the inspiration you require for your astounding tales.”