Peregrine Harker & the Black Death

by Luke Hollands

  I already knew who he was. I may not have seen him for some years but he was undeniably the same slick-haired, aristocratic bully I had witnessed terrifying lads at my last school. He had been a pupil a few years above me, and had made it his business to make my life, and the lives of most of the younger boys, a living hell. Vaughan Grey was the coldest-blooded of scoundrels. The last I’d heard of Grey he had been expelled after a card gambling scandal, a scandal his father had paid a considerable amount of money to make disappear. But it was not Grey’s lack of morals with cards that led me to despise him, it was the way he used his higher breeding to lord it over one and all. He treated anyone he saw as socially below him with utter contempt, thinking his class gave him carte blanche to act and do as he pleased. He would torment and bully the younger boys, the beast had sucked more life out of people than a sixpenny leech. The man was a brute. I detested him and he knew very well how I felt. Despite this he put out a cold, clammy paw and gave me an oily smile.

  “Well, if it isn’t my dear old pal, Peregrine Harker. How the devil are you, old love?”

  I took his hand as briefly as possible, but only for appearances. If Clayton hadn’t been there I probably would have punched the fiend.

  “When old Clayton here told me he was meeting you for a toot, I just couldn’t resist a reunion. I do, however, have to dash, my dear old thing; but it was most pleasant to meet you again, if only briefly.”

  He turned to leave, but Clayton stopped him.

  “Mr Grey, I hope you will give due consideration to the matter we discussed this evening. It is a matter of gross importance to me and one extremely close to my heart. I think it would be beneficial for both of us. I shall await your answer with much anticipation.”

  Vaughan shook the brute’s hand, flashed me another oily smile and then he was off.

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me why you were talking to that rapscallion, sir?” I said, hotly.

  “Oh, come, come, Mr Harker, I’m sure you wouldn‘t expect me to reveal another man‘s private business,” he replied. And that was the last he said on the matter. I would have pressed him more but his smile and warmth cooled my temper. Besides we had more important matters to deal with.

  “Now then, Harker; what do you say, old man? Fancy solving this mystery and making a name for yourself?”

  He need not have asked. I had spent the last few months writing some of the most dull stories imaginable, before that I had been a bullied schoolboy. My whole life had been spent in the shadow of my exciting, daring and courageous parents. Now they were dead it was time for me to have an adventure of my own. Whatever needed to be done, I would do it, and so I said yes.

  “There’s a good lad,“ said Clayton. “Now then, we’re no nearer to discovering the identity of these smugglers, but we do know some of the people who are aiding them. I believe they are part of an international criminal gang who go by the name of the Black Death.”

  So that was the answer to Khan’s mysterious reference to the Black Death. I told Sir Magnus of the incident, and it did not please him.

  “Ah, so my worst fears are confirmed,” he said, with a worried expression on his face. “I have only heard vague rumours of this gang, but from what I hear they are a bunch of ruthless cut-throats. I would like you to help me take care of them, Harker. Perhaps if we cut their life lines they’ll cease to breathe so easily. Mr Woolfe will provide you with the tools and information you need. All I ask is you be prepared to aid us at a moment’s notice. We will of course reimburse you financially. A word of warning though Mr Harker, we think the group may already be on to you. My sources believe the rifle shots at the hotel were aimed at you, the group most likely wants you dead. I suggest you stay observant and, at the slightest sign of trouble, you call for help. Until then, please wait until I send for you.”

  And that was it. That was the day my life changed forever.

  16. Skulking in the shadows

  I didn’t have to wait long for Sir Magnus to call for my services. It happened the very next morning while I was taking breakfast at home.

  I was tucking into my second plate of bacon and eggs when a letter dropped on my doormat. It simply said: “It is time.” I knew exactly what it meant. I hurriedly finished my meal and made my way to the front door where I found a waiting hansom cab.

  I felt a little flutter as I arrived at my destination. I had returned to Clayton’s house. The fare seemed to have been settled with the cabby in advance, so no sooner had I stepped out than I was knocking on the front door. When the door opened it was not a servant, or the old housekeeper standing in the doorway.

  “Ah, we meet again, scribbler. I wondered when you would call on us.” It was Louisa.

  “Miss Clayton, what a pleasure indeed. May I come in?”

  She smiled, and opened the door, but I had no longer set foot inside when I was given a nasty surprise. We were not the only two people in the hallway.

  “Miss Clayton, how many times do I have to tell you to remain in your room?” somebody shouted viciously from the darkened passageway. To my horror it was none other than Vaughan Grey. What the devil was he doing talking to Louisa as if he was in charge of her affairs? He caught sight of me and flashed an oily smile, before giving me a distinctly whiny greeting. “Ah, Harker, old love, it’s you, what a joy, twice in two days. Truly I am blessed.”

  He put out his hand. I didn’t take it. “Indeed,” I replied surlily. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Oh, I thought Mr Clayton had told you about our little arrangement? About me taking charge of the most precious of matters?” He paused and looked at Louisa, then back at me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Ah, I see, he didn’t. Well, I suppose there are chains of command, a hierarchy of trust and such. But I’m sure our employer wouldn’t object to me informing you of our little arrangement, how I am here to protect and care for Miss Louisa. A small precaution against these meddlesome smuggling chaps.”

  “Protect me?” piped up Louisa. “Keep me imprisoned more like. You can hold your tongue, Mr Grey; I’m going back to my room, or should I say my cell.” She turned and rampaged up the flight of stairs to her bedroom.

  So Grey had been handed the job of taking care of Louisa’s safety. Surely someone as powerful as Sir Magnus knew about this fiend’s past? Surely he had some idea of how dangerous it was to put the life of his only child in the hands of this beast?

  I had a good mind to challenge Grey there and then, but I held my anger. I noticed Grey’s eyes were now a little colder, as if he knew what had run through my mind.

  “Come, come, Harker, you’re already late,” he said a touch coolly. “Mr Woolfe is waiting for you in the study. He is not a man to be kept waiting.”

  Grey showed me into the study then made himself scarce, leaving me alone with Mr Woolfe. The fellow was sitting behind the desk, his head in a pile of papers and files. He stopped as soon as he saw me and quickly shuffled the papers away. I considered raising the matter of Grey, but didn’t want that crook to cloud my mind for whatever task lay ahead.

  “Ah, Mr Harker. Take a seat. I will keep this as brief as possible. Before I start I would first like to make clear anything that passes between us today, or any day in fact, must be kept strictly confidential and may be shared with one other person only, that person being Sir Magnus.

  “I’m aware Sir Magnus has given you the brief facts of the situation as it stands. We have little on the individual identity of this smuggling gang but we believe a small group of them may be using a shipping office in Wapping as a cover for their operations. Through certain means I have discovered a mystery shipment is due to be delivered to the office this very evening. We need to know who visits the office and what they deliver. Which is why this evening I want you to watch the offices of Able and Hudson near St Katharine’s Dock. You will have to use all your journalistic cunning and skill, Mr Harker. Whatever happens you must not be caught, but we must have the identities of the traitors
working against us. This may seem like a menial task, but beware, our enemies will do anything to cover their tracks and stop us interfering with their nefarious plans.”

  And that was how later in the day I found myself skulking in the shadows of the docks in Wapping. It was a bitterly cold night and a freezing fog was rolling in from the river. It was a real pea-souper and no mistake. All was quiet apart from the lap lap lap of the grubby Thames against the rusting hulls of the giant ships moored nearby. It would be hard to find this stretch of London, between St Katharine’s Docks and Shadwell New Basin, anything but unpleasant. It is little more than a collection of crumbling tenements, tar-blacked warehouses and grimy alleyways. How I’d ended up spending my evening here was beyond me. I still couldn’t quite believe what I was doing. I had spent the afternoon preparing myself for the night’s work and, if I’m honest, I was a nervous wreck. What if I was caught by these bloodthirsty criminals? I kept picturing them capturing me and subjecting me to horrible torture.

  I shuddered as the nerves and the cold got the better of me again. I checked my pocket watch, it was approaching 10 p.m. Time seemed to be passing very slowly. I glanced across at the shipping office. There’d been no movement at Able and Hudson all evening. It was as still as a grave.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by the distant sound of horses’ hooves and the rattle of a carriage. The noise steadily grew louder until a sinister black shape drew into view. I dipped into the shadows as a jet-black carriage clattered past, dangerously close. It slid past me and pulled up outside the offices of Able and Hudson. There was a brief moment of silence before two shadowy shapes climbed out of the vehicle and into the gloomy street. I could just make out some hushed whispers, then I watched as between them they lifted a long rectangular shape from the carriage. It was the unmistakable form of a coffin. So Sir Magnus had been right, the blighters were here.

  The two figures gently placed the box in the doorway of the office. They seemed to be handling it with some care. As soon as it had been lowered to the floor they quickly climbed back on to their transport, and in a clatter of hooves and rattle of wheels sped off into the darkness.

  What was I to do? Should I follow them? Or should I inspect the box? At the speed they were travelling I had probably already lost any chance of catching them, and my curiosity had already got the better of me. I was desperate to learn what was in the coffin.

  I waited in the shadows a little while, making sure I was alone. I pulled up the collar of my Ulster overcoat and adjusted my cap. The cold had started to seep into my bones and I suddenly felt desperate for my soft, warm bed. But it was time to have a closer look at the coffin. I checked the coast was clear and sneaked out of my hiding place. Then it happened.

  17. A tower of flame

  At first I thought the world had come to an end. The almighty explosion ripped through the night air. A tower of flames and masonry dust went flying skyward, as bricks hurtled through the darkness. I flung myself to the floor. For a second it was almost as light as day. I shut my eyes and clasped my hands over my head for protection. When I opened my eyes again, the darkness had resumed. In front of me was a mess of brick and iron. I surveyed the scene with awe. What the devil had happened? The twisted girders reached up to the moon like arms calling out for mercy, while fluttering down from the night sky came hundreds of scraps of charred paper. A piece fell just in front of my face, close enough for me to read the Able and Hudson letterhead. A column of smoke began to curl upwards from the rubble as a series of small fires sparked into life. The light from the flames danced on the wall behind me, casting sinister shadows.

  So the coffin had contained a bomb. The Black Death was certainly on to me. It was time to escape. If I didn’t move quickly the police would be after me as well. I could already hear a whistle blasting angrily in the distance. I couldn’t afford to be caught by the Peelers. Then a second thought hit me, perhaps it wasn’t the police I should be running away from. What if the smugglers were on my trail right now? I picked up my pace and headed towards Tower Bridge. The huge structure loomed out of the swirling mist. Thank God, the bridge was down, unlike the last time I had crossed it with Mr Woolfe. I hurriedly made my way across. Luckily there were only a handful of people about, and most of them seemed to be sailors, ships’ crew, and pub crawlers too drunk to care why a chap was running at full pelt. As soon as I was south of the river, I headed to the warren of dock buildings and factories that make up Shad Thames. I hot footed it towards Butler’s Wharf, where I took a brief breather. I was scared, confused and disorientated. Was I being chased? I stopped in the thick oily fog and listened intently. Nothing, not a sound, just a dark clammy silence. I paused for a moment longer, taking in my surroundings but I could hardly see a thing in the fog-drenched gloom. Damp brick walls loomed up either side of a cobbled narrow roadway littered with the usual dock street rubbish of empty Player‘s cigarette packets, smashed tea chests and rotting fruit. There seemed little choice of escape other than to carry on down the same path, for the entrances to the crumbling warehouses to my left and right were all at first-floor level. Above each opening hung rusty girders, draped with chains and pulleys like a scene from a medieval dungeon. I wrapped my overcoat around me, pulled my cap down low over my eyes and doubled back along Jamaica Road, heading towards Southwark. It was a fair old trudge, but I carried on walking until I reached the Embankment, I crossed the river and hailed a cab at Charing Cross. It was only when I was safe at home in Soho, with a warm mug of cocoa in my hand, that I realised yet again I had been close to death. I needed to contact Sir Magnus. I sat down briefly to think of how I could reach my new employer, but within seconds sleep enveloped me and I drifted off into a fitful slumber. My mind was full of terrible dreams, dreams of the Black Death. I dreamt I was being chased by the faceless gang through the murky streets of London and no matter how fast I ran, I could not escape.

  18. A curious fellow

  I kicked myself the next morning when I realised I had fallen asleep. How could I be so stupid? I hurriedly sent a telegram to Sir Magnus, outlining the night’s events. It was not long before I received a reply from a smartly dressed delivery boy. When I read it I knew I was in danger. It said: “Harker, your life is at risk. Stay indoors. Talk to nobody. Make contact at my club this evening. Leave only when you think it is safe.”

  I spent most of that day trying to decipher what had happened and feeling more and more anxious. Had I made the right decision to help Sir Magnus? What was I doing? I wasn’t cut out for this lark. I was a boy in a man’s world, playing a deadly game.

  I arrived at the club as early as I dared, waiting for darkness to fall and using the thick swirling fog as cover. After signing in as the guest of Sir Magnus, I was ushered up to the reading room again. I was a little unnerved to find he was yet to arrive. I sat myself in one of the comfy high-backed leather chairs and tried to relax. As I was sitting there, chewing my nails and pondering my future, I was suddenly approached by a curious fellow. He looked vaguely foreign and was dressed all in black with a strange purple turban perched on his head. A few locks of black hair had worked their way free from the silk headpiece and a small black moustache twitched on his top lip. He was of medium height and aged perhaps somewhere around fifty. Although all of this information was secondary to his most prominent feature: a large scar that ran the course of the left side of his face, from his hairline to just above his lip. It dragged down his left eyelid, which sagged over a glossed-over eye. His lips were thin, as if there had been more to them, but they had been sliced off. All of this contributed to making a most ugly and quite terrifying man. This was not a face I needed to see in my jumpy condition. When the chap spoke, his voice did nothing to raise his standing. It was thin and reedy, with an accent I could not place. Indian perhaps?

  “Excuse me, sir, but I am thinking you are new here, and I am thinking I am a new member also. Perhaps we should be acquainted?” He held out a dark-skinned bony hand. I rose and sho
ok it with some suspicion. He bowed slightly in reply. “My name is Charan. The Raja Ranjan Charan to be precise and I am at your service.”

  Well, well. Indian royalty. Perhaps I should trust this fellow? I gave him my name trying to be as polite as possible, but hoping he would sense my caution and leave me be. He didn’t. Instead he pulled up a chair next to me. For some reason I noticed he’d picked a seat directly opposite, and in full view of the main door to the reading room. As he sat down he cast a nervous-looking glance in its direction. I decided the only thing to do was entertain this odd fellow. After all, it wasn’t everyday one ran into a royal and, hopefully, I would soon be joined by Sir Magnus. Surely I wasn’t about to be assassinated in the cosy surroundings of an elite gentlemen’s club?

  The Raja explained he was related to an old-ruling family from an obscure estate on the edge of the Himalayas. He may have held the title of a prince, but it was in name only. He was an exporter by trade and had worked across the Empire, buying and selling all manner of things. He was apparently in London dealing with his business interests, namely visiting his banker. He asked me a question or two, about my work, about where I lived, about my reasons for being at the club. I answered his questions as briefly and discreetly as possible.

  While he was talking I noticed he was glancing at the door. All of a sudden his face seemed to change, almost flush. He crouched forward towards me and hissed a mysterious message: “The man you have come to see is dangerous, it is better you cease having anything to do with him, for your own sake, and that of others. If you do not heed my message the Black Death will see you end up dead.” His voice sent a chill down my spine.

  Before I said anything I saw him glance over my shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at. “Now look here,” I said trying to be brave, before turning back towards him. “What do you mean…” But the fellow had completely disappeared. I stood up and looked around the room but he had definitely gone. Vanished into thin air. It was at that moment I noticed Sir Magnus had arrived and was walking across the room towards me. He greeted me warmly but was curious as to why my eyes were searching the room. When I told him the reason, I saw the colour drain from his face. He became gruff and angry.