by Ash, C. B.
"Irishmen? What about these Irishmen?" Hunter asked curiously. "Do you have their names? Did they visit more than once?"
"One goes by 'Liam', the other 'Conor'," Dr. Belker replied woefully, "They visited dutifully, once a week. Always with a new request from their 'doctor', who I think kept them on retainer. First, it was a few medical supplies, then a few spare rolls of bandages - nothing that would be missed. Later it was medicine, then suddenly came bodies that I was ordered to hide." The doctor shook his head as if the memory were painful. "I knew, I could tell, that they had been ... " His words trailed off.
"Murdered?" Moira offered, her voice icy and brittle with anger.
Dr. Belker nodded glumly. “It was hard to tell, but that first young lady … the faint bruises on her neck. There was no mistaking that they were hand prints. I nearly missed them at first, but once I did see them ... they leered out at me, daring me to keep others from knowing about them.”
A thought nagged furiously at Captain Hunter's mind, "Why did you help us, then? Why give us the logbook, if it puts your family in peril?"
"I can't go on anymore," the doctor said sadly. "I can't, I see them in my sleep. Their eyes ... accusing me ... always accusing me." He looked over at Moira, then at Hunter. "I thought, perhaps, with Thorias here, he would help. That my family would be helped before those beasts got to them."
“Beasts?” Rodney whispered curiously to Moira.
"The Irishmen," she whispered back curtly. She then addressed the doctor, the edge of a snarl apparent in her voice. "Who keeps sendin' them louts to ya?”
Dr. Belker shook his head, "I don't know. It's a doctor, that's all I know. Someone skilled. That much I could tell by the way they were … dealt with.” He closed his eyes as if to purge the memory. “Examine the bodies for yourselves, and you will see it square off!" He opened his eyes, looked at Moira, then Rodney and Hunter. "Help my family! They'll come for them now. Please, I beg you! My children are little, my wife doesn't know."
At the top of the hill, the black police Brougham carriage jostled into view, its polished brass electric arc lanterns shining brightly alongside the top edge of the carriage roof. A blue leather and brass servitor, shaped like a clockwork owl, clung tight to one of the brass rails next to the coachman. Beside both clockwork servitor and coachman on the raised driver's bench sat Constable Martin, his face set with a grim, determined look.
At the sound of the horses, Dr. Belker struggled madly, so much that Detective MacTaggart had to shake the man into submission.
"Enough o' that now! Stop it!" The detective roared. "I'll send the lads 'round to keep ye family safe. Ye’ve me word on it!"
However, Belker did not seem to hear the detective. His breath rasped in his throat, coming quick as if he was suffocating.
"What have I done? What have I done? My family! They'll be killed!" The doctor raved, slipping into hysterics, and quite nearly ripping free from Detective MacTaggart's grip. "I have to save them! Yes, yes ... I'll spirit them away!"
Hunter raced forward to assist the detective. With the combined strength of both men, they managed to hold Dr. Belker still. The doctor's eyes grew wild with panic.
"Doctor, calm yourself!" Anthony said, struggling against the man's antics. The captain glanced down the road at the carriage, then back to Dr. Belker. "Dr. Belker, listen to me! What is this 'doctor' doing with the people that are taken? Why are they being operated on?"
Anthony shook the man in an attempt to get his attention. "Doctor! Where have they taken William? Is it where Mrs. Carpenter is? Is it where the others were taken? Doctor Belker!"
Benjamin Belker shook his head frantically, pulling one way, then the other at the vice-like grip that both Detective MacTaggart and Captain Hunter tried to maintain on him. His wild eyes glared at Hunter, "No! I won't tell you! No! I won't be a party to this! You'll die as well, you all will if you go there! No more killings! No more!"
Belker glanced around in a mad panic. "I won't ... I won't help the doctor anymore. I won't! He's making something, I know he is, something vile! I won't help him! I won't!" His last words were nearly a shriek of panic.
"Moira! No!" Hunter turned in time to grab Moira by the collar, just before her outstretched hands could lock onto Dr. Belker. Rodney also latched onto one of Moira's arms from the opposite side, and with the captain's help was able to keep her at bay from her hysterical victim.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Moira lunged again for Belker with a explosive fury, "Where's Will, ya ravin' loon! Give him back!"
The momentary distraction was all Belker needed. Once Hunter shifted his grasp to stop Moira, Dr. Belker lunged at the captain, burying an elbow into Hunter's mid-section, knocking the wind from him. While the captain staggered back, gasping for air, Belker let out a wordless cry and lashed out at Detective MacTaggart, who barely had time to deflect the man's hands before the manic doctor could claw the detective inspector's face.
MacTaggart stumbled backwards only a step, however that was enough for Dr. Belker. In the space of a heartbeat, the hysterical doctor raced off in a dead run. The detective lunged for the doctor, but his hands swept through the air a second too slow.
Benjamin leaped from the sidewalk into the busy street and directly into the path of a brown wooden wagon, heavily laden with stained oak barrels of whiskey!
"No!" The detective shouted in alarm. At the same moment, Constable Martin elbowed the coachman, and pointed at the fleeing madman.
“Over there, lad! Now!” He ordered the driver sharply. The coach bounced and swayed back and forth as the constable scrambled up from beside the coachman and onto the top of the coach itself.
As the teamster driving the wagon yanked back on the reins, his pair of short-haired, chestnut horses reared up, eyes wide, screaming in a panic. Behind them the wagon groaned from the sudden stop, the giant whiskey barrels straining at their rope restraints. The horses kicked madly, startled by the small, fast moving man that suddenly appeared without warning in front of their eyes.
The horses' hooves hammered down, crashing to the cobblestones beneath them just a second after Constable Martin – who had flung himself from the back of the police carriage – slammed into the fleeing form of Dr. Benjamin Belker. The constable and the hysterical doctor crashed to the pavement amid shouts of alarm from onlookers who raced out of the way.
Finally, the two tumbling men came to a rough stop. Lying prone on the sidewalk was the unconscious Dr. Belker, shirt torn and stained with brackish mire from the side of the road. Next to the doctor, Constable Martin sat, wearily panting for air, equally stained, shoulders slumped from exertion. He glanced down at the tears in his uniform coat.
“The missus’ll be havin’ me hide for this,” he muttered glumly.
Across the road, Detective MacTaggart straightened his glasses, then his jacket. He started to run across the street, but Constable Martin waved to the detective, indicating that he did not need the help.
Moira, denied her chance to wring information - possibly quite literally - from the misguided surgeon, snarled and stormed off in a rage with an apologetic Rodney in tow. Hunter watched her stalk a few short paces, her face as dark as a storm cloud.
"Hot temper on that one," the detective said carefully, brushing at a dark spot of what he hoped was only soot on his coat sleeve.
"True," Hunter agreed with a deep, long sigh, "Very true. But she's the most innovative blacksmith and clockwork engineer I've ever met. Her temper's a small price to pay, in my mind."
Across the street, the battered Constable Martin stood slowly, as if plagued by a thousand aches and pains, before hauling Dr. Belker to his feet. With determined effort, he dragged the doctor towards the waiting police carriage.
Hunter gestured towards the battered form of Dr. Belker, “If he's lost to hysterics, there may be nothing left he can tell us.”
"Give me a wee bit more time with the addled man," MacTaggart said thoughtfully. "Once Ah get the lads
to move his family someplace safe, he's likely ta be more cooperative."
The captain glanced over at Moira, who was in mid-rant to Rodney. The young inventor politely nodded rapidly at whatever she was saying. Hunter watched them for a long moment, considering the scene. Moira's temperament often got the better of her, but usually her heart was in the right place. He knew that once they had her back at the White Hart Tavern, she could freely vent, thereby calming herself down without risking police involvement. Anthony sighed heavily.
He did not want to assume that the Conor and Liam which Dr. Belker had mentioned were the same two Irishmen that Hunter had sour dealings with at the boarding house, then again at the factory. Conor and Liam, while decidedly Irish names, were also quite common. However, something in the back of his mind suggested they were one and the same. Given what Dr. Belker described, that would mean Conor and Liam were 'resurrection men' - or people who robbed graves for the sole purpose of selling the corpses.
Only these two had apparently become unwilling to wait for anyone to join the ranks of the recently deceased on their own. Hunter wondered if their employer, Gilbert Monkhouse, knew of the nocturnal activities of his men. An important connection formed in Anthony's mind, but danced elusively outside his mental grasp. There was something there, some very important connection between what Hiram had found at the docks, what Thorias had found about the bodies, and the two brutes, Conor and Liam. He just could not bring it to light.
Hunter nodded in agreement to the detective's comment. "Quite reasonable. In any case, I'll need the time for Moira to regain her wits about her. She takes the matter of her shipmates' health rather personally."
"Och, that Ah’ve noticed. Will ye be aboard ye ship?" the detective asked. "Or over at the White Hart?"
"The White Hart Tavern," Hunter replied. "Which is fortunately not far from here."
The detective offered Hunter a firm, and grateful, handshake, "Ah'll be by then, after a bit. Hopefully with more."
"Indeed," Hunter replied solemnly. "I dearly hope so. Mind you, Detective, I'm not eager to find any more ruined corpses, especially ones of my crew. There'll be hell to pay if that happens."
"If so, Captain, then ye'll not be alone," the detective said darkly. "Ah'll be right beside ye, payin' me own dues as well."
Chapter 26
At mid-afternoon, the White Hart Tavern, while not teeming with customers, had already begun to collect a modest share of patrons. No matter if they were sailors in port for a night or two or teamsters stopping off for a brief pint of stout, people from many walks of life started to gather inside to escape the damp, sooty afternoon air.
Laughter echoed off the warm, polished dark wooden walls from a myriad of conversations. Knots of patrons, grouped across the common room of the pub, were well into their afternoon revelry and relaxation. The owner, Brian, stood behind the bar chatting with two teamsters. The topic of conversation was the same that was on everyone's lips: the spectacle of the doctor who was arrested by the police outside Greyfriars' Kirk.
At the bar, Captain Anthony Hunter tossed his coat over an arm, then cleared his throat to get the tavern owner's attention. A moment later, the barmaid appeared at the captain's side, wiping her hands on the dull white cotton apron she wore over her modest green dress.
"No use of doin' that, he'll be wigglin' his jaw for awhile," She said with a impish grin.
Brian gave the woman a stern glare, "Ah not be deaf, Mary. Ah can hear ye just fine!"
Mary, the barmaid, flipped her hair around and returned the stern look with one of her own. "Och, that be a likely story! An here ye leave the man standin' thirsty!"
At the far end of the bar, in a large production, Brian rolled his eyes and returned to his conversation. Mary grinned at her temporary triumph, and swung her ample attentions back towards the captain.
"Now, what can Ah be doin' fer you?" She asked with a grin.
Hunter raised an eyebrow, "Two stouts, if you please, and two ales."
"Comin' up," she answered cheerily. Mary took a step, then paused, "Beggin' ye pardon, but ye were the one from the other night who stood up fer that begger girl? A cap'n as Ah heard ye called?"
Hunter's mood darkened slightly, "I daresay she's no beggar."
Mary instinctively took a step back in surprise and raised a delicate hand to ward off further comment. "Oh, hold off now. No offense meant, just describing how it appeared. Anyway, Ah didn't see that young lad with ye, Cap'n, will he be comin' in?"
For the span of two minutes, Hunter wrestled with his own internal frustrations over the topic. It was not the barmaid's fault for touching on a sore subject. He sighed and managed a thin, tight-lipped smile. "He'll not be in. He's missing, though myself and my crew have a few ideas on how to locate him. Just need a few moments to get our thoughts straight."
Mary's cheerful look took on a much more somber one at Hunter's news, "Oh ... well ... Ah wish ye good luck in trackin' him down. But ... if ye'll pardon me again ... the only ones that have been found, weren't exactly ... healthy." She hesitated, as if uncertain of what to say, next. "Or so Ah've heard," she shrugged, obviously uncomfortable at the unexpectedly sour turn the conversation had taken. "Maybe he'll be the first to be found in better shape?"
"I certainly trust he will," Hunter replied. "He mentioned that a young lady who works here told him about the cemetery, where he subsequently vanished. Would that young lady happen to have been yourself?"
"It 'twas me, Cap'n. Probably shouldn't been passin' hearsay I suppose. It was just somethin' Ah heard in passin' while at work one day," She replied in a more somber tone. "Sorry, for the trouble it caused. Ah didn't mean fer it to turn out like this. Just tryin' to help settle things out."
"If you don't mind a question then, who did you hear that information from?" Hunter asked pointedly.
Mary shrugged, "A couple of fishermen. Irish ones Ah be thinkin', based on their accents. They come here every so often. Though, not nearly as regular as ye been lately." She gave the captain a friendly grin.
At his stony look, she cleared her throat and turned away, "Ah'll get ye pints, Cap'n. Be just a moment."
Anthony watched her hurry off along the bar, then sighed. He knew better. The barmaid was not the one deserving of his anger, it was those behind the kidnappings. He spun on his heel, stalking across the room to a stained chestnut table in the far front corner next to the large bay window. Anthony pulled out a chair, dropped his coat onto the back of it, and sat down heavily. He stared out the dusty window at the long stretch of the Grassmarket and its patrons outside, tracing the odd wood grain pattern with his artificial, clockwork left hand.
"Benjamin," Thorias said in sad amazement to no one in particular. Thorias, along with Moira and Rodney, shared the table with Captain Hunter.
The doctor withdrew a tiny brass valve - now completely cleaned from its time spent in a dead body - from the pocket of his waistcoat. He toyed with the small device that was no larger than the end of a child's thumb. "I just cannot get past the idea that Benjamin was behind this. I'd been searching for just how he could have missed this in his examinations," Thorias sighed slowly, "I suppose now I have my answer. He could've said ... something to me. I would've helped him well before it came to any of this."
Rodney glanced around the table at the long faces, then leaned forward slightly with his fingers interlaced in front of him , "If I might, Doctor? I know I come late to this, but as I understand it from what Moira and Captain Hunter have explained to me, Dr. Belker isn't entirely behind this. From his own admission, he was blackmailed into being an accomplice."
Thorias considered that a moment, "True, but he could have asked for my help that day I visited him."
"It strikes me, old friend, that under the circumstances, he did," Hunter commented casually. "He gave us the way in to view the bodies in the mortuary at night. I'd suspect he knew you'd discover what you did."
He sat forward as the barmaid appeared with the dr
inks and set them on the table.
"Thank you, my dear," the captain said with a thin, polite smile.
"Don' mention it." Mary said with a polite smile.
Moira looked over at the barmaid, "Say now, Will mentioned a barmaid tellin' him about the cemetery. That happen to be you?"
Mary glanced at Hunter, obviously a little uncomfortable over the question. "Och, it was. Like Ah told ye Cap'n, Ah shouldn't been passin' hearsay, but Ah was just tryin' to help."
"Oh," Moira replied abruptly. "Then ya know Will's vanished after goin' there?"
"Ye Cap'n said as much," Mary replied with a remorseful look. "It's not at all how Ah be thinkin' that would've turned out. Ah'd hoped it woulda' brought an end to all the commotion."
There was an uncomfortable silence that settled in at that moment. Moira, caught between her temper and reason, was at a loss for words. On one hand, the barmaid's poor information was what had sent William off to the cemetery. However, from what little she knew of it, Will and Constable Martin simply stepped into something far worse than they expected.
"It's as all right as this kinda thing can be," Moira finally replied. "Will had a constable along, they went in careful, I'm sure of it. We just gotta get him back. Who'd ya hear it from, anyway?"
"Couple of Irish fishermen, least they dressed and sounded like it," Mary shrugged.
"Did ya get any names?" Moira asked thoughtfully.
"No, can't be sayin' Ah did," the barmaid answered. Mary looked over her shoulder at the other customers, then back to the group. "Ah hate to be runnin' off, but Ah got others here to take care of."
Moira gave her a thin smile, "Sure, I understand."
Mary nodded silently, then turned away from the group to clear a nearby table.
Moira took a sip of her ale, then nodded slowly. "Since Dr. Belker couldn't be tellin' you right out, helpin' you sneak around was the next best way of tellin' you." She glanced around the table. "I guess he figured that he was bein' watched wherever he was."