by J M Bannon
Jimmy turned to his crew. “If the copper gets in the way, don't kill him. Put a bag over his head and kick him in the pollywogs so he stays down.”
They all nodded.
The bobby stopped and noticed that a street lamp was out near the shop. Glancing up, he pulled out his notebook and began to write down that lamp number, noting it’s non-working condition. Just then, the door to the Silkwood's burst open by two men assisting an unconscious man out of the building.
* * *
9:55 PM, Pilton Road
Rose stood at the street corner and gazed at the townhouse two doors up the street. The street lights reflected in the puddles and sheen left on the streets from the recent storm. She donned scrying goggles and adjusted the lenses to check for wards. Rather than seeing the glyphs or symbols of both Western and Egyptian omens illuminated, she observed streaks and glimmers around the house.
At that moment, an astral form caught her eye, standing in the street just where a carriage had passed. It was the shape of a middle-aged man. He looked English, striding towards the home. Rose was impressed to see such a strong image. She had projected many times but only to other planes, momentarily and with extensive support from arcane instruments and objects. She changed her lenses and adjusted the resolution. The streaks around the house became spirit shades and apparitions of the dead, and the glimmers were dozens of flickering points of the aether breaching into the mortal realm. Angelica’s defenses were pure, raw and unbreakable.
When the Englishman’s apparition passed through the garden gate, the arcane defenses solidified. The entire front garden was filled with apparitions of those that had died at or near the location, men, women children of all ages in various states of decay. The randomly moving spirits coalesced to block the Englishman’s path into the flat. An ancient Briton warrior grasping a spear and thatched shield stood resolutely in his way.
It was a surprise to the gentlemen when he tried to pass through the other apparitions but was blocked just as if he had walked into a material object. He tried to push through a second time, but the Briton warrior, showing a grin of rotting teeth, gave the Englishman the full brunt of his weight when he slammed into him with his shield. The English spiritualist fell to the ground.
For Rose, it was like watching one of those new moving stereoscope pictures silently flickering images playing out a tragic scene. She could do nothing more than stand by as the spirit guard of Angelica tore the astral projection to pieces, while all Rose could hear was the summer breeze rustling down the lane. What she observed on the man’s face was terror and anguish. Looking back to the street, she saw a second astral projection. Rose recognized the woman who floated just above the street as Madame Blatavsky, a local spiritualist. Blatavsky looked in Rose’s direction then flew away.
“Well, here goes plan B,” Rose muttered to herself, pulling her goggles down around her neck and walking towards the residence. Plan A was to approach with stealth. She wore her long crimson coat, it’s lining sewn with threads pulled from the death shrouds of sixteen saints and imbued with incantations of safe passage and protection. On past investigations, Rose had found the cloak to provide not only protection by camouflage from those wielding the arcane, but after what she just saw, she wasn’t sure if the coat would afford any type of protection at all so she might as well just stroll up and announce herself.
As she crossed the street, she felt a vibration on her belt. It was her arcana circulata, a warning device and directional locator for supernatural energy. She opened the case and looked at the direction and intensity dial. The intensity was pegged. Not a surprise after witnessing the wards the priestess had erected. What befuddled her was that the directional indicator was spinning versus pointing at the townhouse. Must look at that in the workshop.
Rose opened the garden gate and stepped onto the property, knowing she was within the scope of the priestess’ magic.
She slowly ascended steps up to the front door, expecting some type of snare or curse. Instead, as she made footfall on the landing, the front door creaked opened slowly.
Rose stuck her head in the doorway, taking notice of how nicely illuminated the rooms were all installed with the latest arc lamps.
“Come on back. I is in the parlor,” came a female voice in a West Indies accent.
As Rose stepped into the ornate room, she saw a stunning woman with a deep brown skin tone and a perfect mix of African and European facial features. She wore a hand-painted silk kimono with a high-neck lace blouse underneath. Her hair was not pinned up but left down long, lush and flowing. The woman sat in a high-back chair. Resting against the chair was a primitive staff of warped and petrified wood decorated with feathers and beads. Five human skulls rested at the top, one above another, skewered by the staff.
“Please have a seat. When God created time, he made a lot of it,” Angelica said as she shuffled tarot cards.
“You must be Ms. Angelica du Haiti?” Rose declared as she made her way to the chair opposite Angelica. She waited. “You are Angelica du Haiti?”
“Sister Caldwell, some know me by that name, but I prefer Angelica de Moya. Welcome. Would you please cut the cards?” the priestess requested, setting the deck down in front of Rose.
“Moya?” Rose said as she cut the deck.
While she laid out the cards face down, Angelica spoke.” I am the only daughter of Don Ernesto de Moya and a Haitian woman. Years after Don Hernando’s first wife died of yellow fever, he fell in love with my mother. Choose a card.”
Rose turned over the Magician card. “Mastery of the material world, self-discipline and a willingness to take risks,” said Angelica. A thoughtful frown crossed her face as she examined Rose, letting the meaning of the card settle in.
Angelica turned over the Priestess. Rose knew the meaning of this card—intuition, wisdom and secret knowledge.
“Pick another card, Rose,” pressed Angelica.
Rose flipped over the Tower.
Angelica tapped the tarot as she recounted meaning. “A powerful selection, something remains yet to be revealed, but patience must be observed. Duality and mystery. Hidden influences, disruption. Conflict. Change. Sudden violent loss. Overthrow of an existing way of life.”
Rose’s hand was still on the card. Angelica placed her finger on the back of Rose’s hand, and with that, she was sent to another time and place.
* * *
10:02 PM, Silkwood & Co.
Rooftop banged on the back of the van. The driver released the clutch and reversed the truck. Watching in the side mirror, the driver positioned the truck onto the sidewalk so Jimmy and his thugs could jump out right in front of Silkwood.
The bandits had wrapped scarves around their faces and wore wool caps. Even Jimmy was dressed down, looking like a common cockney hoodlum.
The shocked officer saw the back of the truck barrel towards him, stopping a foot from him. Any comfort there was in not getting hit by the truck went away when Rooftop kicked the cop in the head, sending him to the pavement. He and another guy leapt on him, put a bag over his head then Rooftop punched the copper right in the solar plexus. The poor bastard was sucking so much air from the punch that the bag moved in and out of his mouth.
Jimmy's goons bagged the heads of the Silkwood workers, who dropped their unconscious coworker to fight off the thugs. Jimmy’s gang were seasoned street fighters and quickly dealt with the jewelers, with one getting a knee to the groin and the other a blackjack to the head. Both hit the ground moaning and groaning. “Stay down or you'll get your head caved in. This will all be over soon, and you will be safe if you don't act a hero,” yelled Jimmy.
The gang strode into Silkwood & Company.
“You two, grab a crate and get the fuck out. There is no air in here,” said Jimmy.
One of the goons said, "We should have worn gas masks.”
“Grab a box, sheep dip. Gas masks only filter out gas. If there is no oxygen in the room, you will still pass out," Jimmy growl
ed as he slapped him in the back of his head.
When Jimmy walked in, they still had not completed smelting all the gold. There were four full crates, far more than the 1,450 the counterfeit paper work showed. Then the gangster realized they would strike the new ingots first before paying off the help with the gold. The gold was in various stages, some still guineas, some cooling in molds and more in a crucible in the furnace.
"Grab those crates," yelled Jimmy. He and Rooftop grabbed a crate by its rope handle and carried it out to the truck.
On his way back in, Jimmy stood on the cop's neck. "Any bloke looking to be a hero will get his medal posthumously."
“I hear ya, mate,” moaned the cop.
The four men made the second trip from inside the shop to the back of the truck. Jimmy grabbed a handful of the gold guineas and shoved them in his pocket. After he threw the last crate onto the bed of the truck, he and Rooftop stalked over to the policemen and the workers on the ground and put a fuinea in each of their pockets. “Now you blokes may think about jumping up and taking the bag off your head… but don’t do it. Not until you don’t hear the rumble of my car boiler. Cause I’ll be looking out the window with my pistol pointed back at you and will shoot whoever moves.”
After leaving them with that thought, Jimmy jumped into the back of the vehicle. With a hiss of steam as the bypass vented and re-pressurized the piston, the lorry and Sir Francis Chilton's gold drove away.
* * *
10:05 PM, Pilton Road
Dolly waited, positioned in the driver’s seat of the steam cruiser, and Detective Burton providing back-up in the passenger seat.
Dolly watched Rose walk across the street. It was hard to miss a woman wearing pants, let alone one striking such a confident stride, and then of course, there was the harness she rigged up to access her adventuring gear.
“Well, that one sticks out like dog's balls. Is that Sister Rose?” asked Burton.
"Indeed, it is. She sent me a wire-type of her discovery, the location of Angelica du Haiti at 412 Pilton Road,” replied Dolly.
“Well, let’s get in there,” implored Burton as he went for the door of the carriage to get out.
Dolly grabbed his arm. “We are going to give her a little time to souse out the situation.” On one hand, Dolly was being truthful. Rose was better suited to confronting the sorceress. On the other, he wanted to give Rose the time she needed to learn what she wanted from Angelica. He felt he owed her that, given that she tipped him off to the location. He would be feeling a lot more comfortable if he was sitting next to Keane. He rarely felt fear, or such a lack of control, but he was going up against an enemy who could bend people to her will and turn friend into foe. Maybe Rose would get further reasoning with her. He could give Rose five minutes before he went in to arrest Angelica.
The senior detective observed Rose as she stopped in the road then used her goggles to look up and down the street before continuing into the house.
Burton interrupted the silence in the car. "You know that we all think you a little batty and verging on the heretical consorting with her."
There’s that judgment again, just like Keane. Maybe rather than conceal the truth, I should share it. Dolly opened up to the young detective. “I keep a confidential journal, mainly to check my sanity, but it also serves me if I am required to share some of the strange and fantastic things I have dealt with. Included are my notes from the St. Anthony Home for Boys.”
"You worked the Milton affair?" replied Burton, who was the newest addition to the detective branch and not even a street constable when Dolly worked the case.
"I did. I was a Sergeant. This was before the detective’s branch. We were pulling boys out of the rivers, all strangled, between the ages of eight and twelve. Strange thing was, no one was reporting any missing children. For months, we had nothing, and the frequency of dead boys was increasing. Finally, I had a break when we found two bodies in the same week, one on shore and a floater pulled out by a boat on the river. I had been plotting the body locations and drew a conclusion that the source had to be up stream. I figured it to be a poor house or orphanage, where there was no parent to miss the child. I canvased the city and began looking at two locations, St. Anthony being one. I interviewed Father Milton, and at the time, he seemed like a good bloke, even gave me access to his records, and everything checked out. While I'm there, I run into this young nun, and she tells me that I need to look further into Father Milton. I just assumed that she worked there so I start doing some digging and get a whole heap of pushback from the archdiocese.”
“They were covering for the priest?’ asked Burton.
“That's what I thought. I can't get any further access to church records, but I did have a list of his postings at several boys’ homes. Obvious thing to do then was go to the local stations and see if there were similar murders. I saw a pattern of dead boys showing up strangled around the times and places he had been posted. Circumstantial, but a clear pattern.
“So, I go back to St. Antony’s rectory, where Milton lives, to interview him, see if I can get him to crack. It's in the evening so I give the door a knock, figuring the padre should be home. No answer. I decide to have a look around, and I notice that nun prowling around. Now this is suspicious, a sister in her habit skulking around the rectory, and I see her go down into this cellar in the back of the house. I follow her down, and there is Father Milton, in the process of strangling a boy. I called out to him, but he doesn't even acknowledge I am in the room. I drew my pistol. In those days, I carried a Weiss brothers over and under. I took aim and gave the priest another chance to let go of the boy, but he kept choking him." Dolly rubbed his own throat now, knowing how painful that was for the boy, to be choked by powerful hands.
“I let loose a shot that hit him square in the chest with a fifty-caliber ball, and he didn't even turn to look at me. He was focused on the nun, who was carrying on with some mumbo jumbo talk. The shot should have dropped a bull. I could see the hole in his chest, and the wall behind him sprayed with blood from the exit wound.
“I had no idea what these two were up to, but Milton wouldn't stop so I tok two more steps closer and put a second shot point blank into his head. Bam! The shot was true, and the back of his head opened, brains and gore all over the floor, but the bastard was still grinning at the Sister.
“With no shots left and the priest with two bullets in him and half his head missing, I went into shock. Paralyzed, just standing there, like the village idiot. The nun proceeded to conduct an exorcism. Only then did Milton finally release the boy and descend into a fit, swinging and fighting at something in the room until he burst into flames. At least, that is what I thought I saw. Like I said, I was dumbstruck when my shots did not drop him.
“Next thing I knew, Sister Rose was pulling me out of the cellar. We both got out and the rectory was consumed in the flames along with Father Milton," finished the senior detective.
Burton gaped at him. "If you were there, how come the story is that Sister Rose started the fire that killed Father Milton?"
"That is just how the gossip-mongering has changed the story over time,” replied Dolly.
"But they excommunicated her,” replied Burton.
“From what I know, she caused too much of a stir during the papal inquisition. Those cowards booted her out to get distance from her, but she was fine with the outcome. It allowed her to focus on her war against the wicked. Adam, I’m only recounting this story so you’re totally prepared for what you might see tonight. Rose Caldwell has shown me that far more exists in this world beyond what we can see and hear, and that there are forces at work on and off Earth, intending to do harm. Do you want to know what Rose told me went on in that cellar?"
"Hell yes. You can't tell someone something like that and not finish the tale," whispered Burton, his wool cap bunched in his hands.
“Rose Caldwell told me that Father Joseph Milton was possessed by the fallen angel Rabdos, now a demon that has
the power to stop and alter the paths of the stars. He receives power from strangling humans. There is only one angel with the power to prevent him from succeeding, a seraphim called Brieus.
“What I witnessed was Rabdos enacting his plan to change the heavens and Rose summoning Brieus to aid her. The two fought, and Milton's corrupted body was consumed in the holy flames the seraphim used to triumph over his enemy. The sickening part is the demon’s power is amplified by making an unwilling agent act against their own morality and nature.” Dolly wondered if Milton was a good man infected and turned against his better nature. If it all began with one moment where he didn’t do something overtly bad, but rather a sin of omission. Could any of us end up suffering the fate of Milton because we weren’t vigilant?
"Bollocks!" cried Burton.
"Maybe. I could be mad as a hatter, or perhaps some time in the future you will be required to call on the services of Rose Caldwell because your intellect and a fifty-caliber shot are not enough to bring justice to the realm,” finished the Detective.
"Well, what do we have here?" said Burton.
A steam carriage pulled up and parked in front of 412 Pilton Road. Several men exited the back of the carriage along with the driver and approached the flat. The three of them stood for a moment at the front of the house before entering the garden gate as the driver began walking up the street.
"Two of those blokes are necronists," announced Dolly. “That fella there is Guild Master Saint-Yves, one of the leaders of the necronist guild. I met with him earlier this week on this case, and he offered to help catch Chilton’s killer. I agreed on the condition he inform me of her whereabouts and that I be on hand to arrest her.” The senior detective paused. Dolly checked his pistol, making sure all the caps were in place on the cylinder then placed the pistol back in his shoulder holster. He had made his decision at that cafe table that as much as he felt Angelica deserved to die for what she did to Keane his purpose was to bring her to justice. "Looks like tonight the scales will be removed from your eyes, Adam. Let's check in and make sure that everything in there remains civil between this cast of characters. You go around the block and find the fella who went off on his own then meet me back inside the house.”