“And here he is gentlemen, here’s the boy who thinks he can take on our supreme champion, here’s the whelp who thinks he can ruin your bets, here’s the little urchin who thinks he can floor our mate Slugger Joe Pummledrum, but what do you think?”
With that the crowd began to jeer and bray, pointing and shaking their fists in my direction.
“Oh, look, the little lad’s shy,” cooed the man in the suit, walking towards me and dragging me into the middle of the ring. “Right, gents you know the rules. Anything goes, apart from kicking a man when he’s on the deck. And there’s no spitting, cursing or surrendering. The fight is over when there’s only one man standing.”
The crowd cheered at the man’s speech, their faces flushed red with beer and anger. The man in the suit walked over to a bell hanging in the corner of the ring.
“When the bell rings the fight begins, but first, shake hands.”
Slugger Joe lurched across the dusty, dirt floor of the ring, and stretched out a sweaty palm, the size of a dinner plate. I took it as firmly as I dared. He clamped my hand tightly in an agonising vice-like grip.
“You’re dead, boy,” he grunted through a smile, revealing two rows of broken and blackened teeth.
Joe let go of my hand, which had started to throb and he stepped back a few paces. I looked up at the braying crowd, desperately trying to find someone who might help, but they glared back viciously. There was no escape. There was only one solution, I’d have to fight Joe, and if I wanted to stay alive, I would have to win.
This was not the first time I had boxed. Archie had taught me the basics of the sport, in the long hot summers we had spent together at his father’s house. I spread my feet to gain some balance and brought my hands up to guard my face. I saw Joe turn and nod to the man in the suit, who walked up to the bell and gave it an almighty clout. The crowd suddenly erupted with an explosion of whooping and bellowing. A second later my opponent’s fist flew through the air towards me. It whistled past my right cheek, missing by a whisker.
In a flash everything I had been taught came flooding back, I was alert, I was sharp and I was going to win. ‘Think of a tactical advantage,’ I said to myself, ‘think of some cunning way to floor this scoundrel.’ Well, this Joe fellow was a brute of a man, and slow on his feet, so that gave me one advantage. He would have to catch me first before he could hit me. And I was not about to let that happen.
I darted to my left and spun round behind him, giving his ribs a couple of quick jabs. It felt like punching granite, my bare fist connecting with his rippling torso. I blocked the pain out of my mind and fired off another jab before unleashing a right hook to his kidneys. It was like teasing a tiger. The boxer exploded with rage, and spinning round threw another hefty fist towards my face. This time it glanced off my cheek. Even though it had not connected properly it was still a shock, the room around me started to spin, and the braying crowd became a single sickening mess of red leering faces and waving arms. I steadied my balance and began to move again. I had to keep moving, I had to keep agile and away from Joe’s dangerous right hook. One blow would not only be enough to knock my lights out in this world but it would surely be enough to send me into the next.
Joe was angry now and began repeatedly swinging his deadly punches towards my skull. It took every part of my strength and concentration to avoid being hit. But it also took every part of Joe’s energy to keep fighting, and he was tiring quickly. If I could keep this up then surely I would survive.
The crowd realised this too, and they were not happy. There were yells for me to stop dancing and cries for Joe to show me what a real waltz entailed. I blocked them out and continued to duck and weave around the towering giant. Then, suddenly, as I was moving backwards to escape a right hook, I tripped over something behind me. Before I knew it, I was on the dusty earth floor of the ring. Turning my head I spied the outstretched leg of the man in the cheap suit. He drew it back, throwing me a sarcastic smile.
“Stay on your feet, boy,” he chuckled maliciously. “Or he might finish you off on the ground. You wouldn‘t want to end up in a coffin for good. Would you, boy?”
I looked forward and saw Joe lumbering towards me, his mouth dripping with spittle and wide open in a manic grin, his red eyes burning with hatred. There was no way he was going to let me stand up and fight like a man. Well, if he was going to play dirty, then so would I. Stretching out my hand I felt the dry earth between my fingers. I grabbed as large a handful as I could, and waited until Joe was nearly upon me. As he reached down to grab me I threw my hand up violently, launching the grimy dust and sand into his bulging eyes and flared nostrils. It did the trick. Within seconds he was reeling backwards, coughing and spluttering. Now was my chance, if I didn’t finish the monster now, I would surely be for the chop. I was back on my feet in a flash and sprang towards him, arms outstretched. I hit him with my full force, just above the knees, my arms wrapping round his legs like a rugger tackle, locking them together, and sending him crashing to the ground. I jumped on top of him, my right arm raised ready to pile into his face, but just as I was about to throw a knock-out punch I felt a vice-like grip around my wrist.
“Now, now, no cheating, boy.” It was the man in the tattered suit. Grabbing my other arm he dragged me upright and towards the edge of the ring. I wrestled violently to break free, but his grip was as strong as iron, just as before.
“I’m going to make you wish you’d never done that,” he jeered, “I’m going to get our Joe to teach you a lesson.”
This was not good, this was not good at all. I was now held fast at the edge of the ring, with an enraged champion boxer lumbering towards me. By the look on his face he only had one intention. To kill me.
Well, it looked like it was lights out for Harker. I clenched my eyes shut and waited for the killer blow to land. But it never came. What happened next was utterly extraordinary. First there was the crack of a pistol shot, then the crowd around me fell silent, and the grip on my wrists loosened. I opened my eyes and was met by a most peculiar sight. It was the barrel of a gun, and it was pointing at the man behind me. In front of me the hardened champion Joe Pummledrum had what looked like a walking stick about to be thrust into his neck, and he was not taking it well, it almost looked like he was about to cry. The person holding both these weapons was perhaps the most curious part of the picture. He was quite short and dressed head to toe in black, with a sail-sized black cloak draped over his shoulders. The top half of his face was equally covered with a black silk scarf, punctured with two eye-holes. The outfit was topped off with a black top hat. Who was this mystery saviour?
Whoever he was, he had saved my bacon. With a deft little flick of the pistol he motioned for the man holding me to release his grip. I took a step forward, but as I did I caught sight of the crowd. The shock of the pistol-shot had silenced them, but the effect was now wearing off and they were becoming restless. They had paid their money to gamble on the fight and did not welcome the interruption. One or two of the audience had begun to stand, within seconds they were all on their feet and moving towards us. It looked like a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. I had escaped one terrible fate to face an even worse one.
As the crowd grew more restless I shouted a warning to my new friend in the top hat. But I was too late, they were upon us. Dozens of them came teeming over the side of the pit. The newcomer in the hat stood his ground, but all of a sudden he faltered, and collapsed slightly to the ground, discarding the pistol and leaning on his walking stick. Whatever could be the matter?
Pummledrum and the man in the tatty suit had forgotten all about me now and were hungry to tackle the man in black. They hurried towards him gleefully, cheering on the oncoming crowd. I had to think of something quickly. In their hurry to get to this defenceless being they’d stepped over the discarded gun. I lunged forward to grab it. My poor saviour was now on the floor, and seemed to be doing something with the stick. My fingers touched the gun. I had it! As I
picked it up a memory ran through my brain, where had I seen that pearl-handled pistol before?
There was no time to try and remember, as the crowd was about to engulf its owner. Then a very strange thing happened. The man in black was suddenly brandishing a sword. The walking stick must have been a sword stick, a simple cane, concealing a long blade, a common weapon, but a useful one. With a few deft strokes the crowd retreated. With one careful vault the fellow jumped out of the pit and was motioning for me to follow, offering a helping hand. I needed no encouragement as the crowd was about to turn on me. I jumped up and grabbed the hand on offer. In moments the pair of us were tearing through the now empty auditorium. My saviour lead me through a baffling series of doors and down some dark corridors before pausing for breath in a dimly-lit alcove. It was then I discovered the identity of my rescuer.
“Wait here a moment Peregrine, while I lose this silly outfit,” said a very feminine and familiar voice. And then I had my answer, the bundle of black cloth stood up to full height and cast off the cloak, hat and mask that had been covering its face. It was Louisa!
Somehow she was there in front of me, my very saviour, slotting her sword stick back into its harmless cane sheath. Where the blast had she come from? What the devil was going on? I tried to form some words but I was too stunned.
“My, my, look at you gape, Peregrine. Have you never seen a sword stick before?” she said tapping me on the chest with her cane.
“My God, Louisa; what the blazes are you doing here, in a place like this?” I spluttered.
“A simple thank you would suffice, Mr Harker,” she said acting a little surly and taking her pearl-handled pistol from my grasp. “After all I have just saved your life.”
This was no time to argue, we had to escape, and we had to escape fast. “Thank you,” I said sarcastically. “You can explain yourself later, but first we should get out of here. Do you know a way?”
“Luckily for you,” she said, “I do.”
With that we were off again, but instead of leading me upwards towards an exit, we were travelling deeper into the bowels of the awful dwelling. Eventually we rounded a corner and ran into a dank, gloomy passageway. It was fairly small and dark. Moss was growing on the damp brick along with some kind of phosphorescent mould and there was a faint sound of dripping water. Our breath created small clouds of condensation in the cold darkness. Gravel crunched underfoot. After a few moments we reached a rough wooden door. God only knew what was on the other side.
I tried the handle but it was locked.
“Out of the way,” tutted Louisa, before firing a shot into the lock and barging open the door. We both fell out and landed on cold hard cobbles. We were in a street fairly similar to the one that housed the main entrance to the boxing den. I guessed it must run parallel. “Come on, I’ll tell you everything in the warm,” Louisa said. “Let’s find a hansom to take us back to Soho.”
22. Two large fangs
“So there you go,” said Louisa. “It’s all quite simple really, and if you think about it rationally, it’s very lucky for you I was there.” She was sitting by a roaring fire in my rooms at Broad Street, a steaming mug of cocoa in her hand. We had both thawed a bit, in temperature and emotion. My admiration for her had not just been increased by a change in lighting but rather by the brave tale she had just told me. It went something like this.
It seems the young Louisa was full of pluck and always on the hunt for adventure. She despised the cosy caged life her father imposed on her, something perhaps due to the number of mystery novels she’d read as a child. She had discovered an outlet for her adventurous urges thanks to a curious quirk of architecture. Her bedroom was placed directly above her father’s study. Her father had a habit of leaning on the mantelpiece when he talked about state affairs. It just so happened that if Louisa was close to her fireplace, the sound would travel upwards quite clearly and she could hear her father’s every word. On certain occasions she overheard things she shouldn’t have, but could not resist acting upon them.
Eventually she realised she could carry out her eavesdropping trick using other upstairs fireplaces. The fireplace in her former nursery for instance was best for listening in on conversations in the breakfast room. That was how she heard my orders to go to the boxing den. She decided to follow me to the Inn of Double Happiness and offer me some protection, perhaps in sympathy after the beating I’d taken the week before. It was lucky she had, otherwise I may have lost my head to Joe Pummledrum’s fist.
“You won’t tell my father, will you, Mr Harker?”she said finally. “He’d be awfully cross. Please say you’ll keep it secret.”
I had great reservations, but I decided to agree to her demands, after all she had saved my life. I poured her a little top up of cocoa and gave her a warm smile.
“Alright, then, Miss Clayton, I agree to keep your eavesdropping a secret. On one condition, you must promise to never follow me again.” She gave me a slight nod. “Come on, then, we should really be getting you home, before your father realises you’re gone.”
Less than an hour later I’d delivered Louisa back to her father’s home. I took the cab with her, just to make sure she was not followed. As she left she looked back and raised a hand to say farewell, the hint of a smile dancing upon her lips, and then she was gone.
I went to order the cabby to return to Broad Street when I had a sudden urge to walk. A beautiful crisp dawn was breaking, the sun rising above London and bringing shards of warm golden light through the smog. It was not too great a distance and it would do me good to stretch my legs. I paid the cabby and disembarked his carriage. As he pulled away I checked the bulge in my jacket that signalled my revolver was close at hand.
It was turning into a delightful morning with a luscious glowing red sky. My head was pointed skyward for most of that journey home, which is why when I tipped my hat to a gentlemen passing along Cambridge Street, I didn’t realise he was the Raja Ranjan Charan, the man from the Oriental Club. It was a few moments before the cogs of my brain whirred into life and gave me a mental kicking to wake up. It was definitely him, and no mistake, the scar, the dark skin, and the reedy voice as he wished me good morning. What the devil was he doing in these parts?
I span round but the street was empty. I doubled back, checking the shop doorways and the side roads, but nothing. Where the blast had he gone? More to the point where the blast had he been? He was far too close to my rooms for comfort. Something made me decide to abandon my hunt and return home quickly.
What a sight awaited me when I made it back to my chambers. The house was quiet as if there had been no disturbance, but my study told a different story. Boxes of paperwork were upturned, files strewn across the floor, books thumbed through and dumped on my desk. My bedroom was the same, a complete disaster. The bed clothes pulled to pieces, my garments wrenched from my wardrobe and dumped unceremoniously about the place. That blasted Raja! It had to be him. So now he knew where I lived, and he had been inside my very home. There was only one thing for it, I’d have to go straight to Sir Magnus. But then a thought occurred to me. What if doing so gave away Louisa’s secret night-time activities? That would certainly place her in all kinds of bother. I’d have to leave at least a modicum of time before I informed my employer, time then to tidy away my upset possessions.
I began clearing the clutter discarded by the careless searcher. It was all an enormous mess on the floor of each room. There were books inside cooking pots, socks inside books and even a piece of mutton inside a sock. I paid little attention as I clasped armfuls of flotsam and jetsam and dumped it all on my bed for searching. If only I knew what was about to happen I would have been considerably more alert.
I was taking hold of a particularly large tome, a book about the native people of Bolivia, which had been tossed on to a pile of underpants, when my fingers rested on something warm, scaly and alive. A shiver ran down my spine. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, indeed. I slowly began to wit
hdraw my hand from under the book, but I was not careful enough. Without a moment’s notice the book suddenly flew in the air. Darting straight for my face was the long patterned form of a terrible looking snake. It was thick and muscular, and by the brief glimpse I had as it lunged towards me, it definitely looked venomous. Two large fangs protruded from its top jaw, dripping with venom. The only reason I could think for it being in my home was it had been placed there by the Raja as a dastardly trick to finish me off.
I darted to my right just in time as the beast lunged again, narrowly missing my elbow and instead biting into thin air. This seemed to anger it more. It recoiled, gathering strength, and then started slithering quickly towards me. I knew a little about snake venom, from stories my father had told me, and none of them were pleasant. The stories of agonising deaths and rotting limbs still kept me awake at night. I was not about to suffer a similar fate. My only concern now was saving my own skin.
Keeping a watchful eye on the tropical monster I manoeuvred myself gently towards the fireplace. I could see it searching me out. Its large triangular head was bobbing about on the hunt for warm-blooded prey. But the burning fire seemed to confuse the beast, and momentarily I was hidden behind a wall of warm air. I doubted my protection would last. I would have to act quickly. With my back to the wall and my vision trained on the snake, I reached down gently and grasped a poker that was resting by the grate. I picked it up gingerly, and ever so carefully placed it among the glowing embers. Then, with one deft snap of the wrist, I flicked a red hot coal across the room. It landed smouldering in a corner. As the coal spun through the air it caught the attention of the viper, the warmth of the burning fuel sparking an uncontrollable urge of curiosity in the beast. This was my chance to strike. As soon as it turned its head and began slithering towards the ember I raised my poker high in the air and brought it crashing down on the vile creature. Unfortunately I over-estimated my strength and striking the animal just behind its skull I cleaved its head clean off. The macabre lump rolled across the floor towards me, landing at my feet. Two blank eyes stared upwards, the lifeless mouth agape, still terrifying, but lethal no longer.
Peregrine Harker & the Black Death Page 8