by Ed Zenith
Acton stood dumbly for a few seconds, staring at his erstwhile clients. He had been greedy and careless. He should have asked them about the Heaths. Maybe they were so new to the business that they didn’t know the rules. They had angered someone who paid protection money to the gangsters and the Heaths had come after them. Acton shook himself and turned to run from the building. Two stocky figures stood in the doorway.
“Tut tut, Mister Turville. I’d have thought a man of your notoriety would have known better than to have consorted with these young reprobates,” said Milbury, the younger of the two, in his broad Yorkshire accent.
He was right. When Acton had been forced to take illegal haulage jobs, he knew only too well that the Heaths were behind all his jobs. He had met them many a time in the course of his trade and always he had paid them their money and respect. He knew better than to get on the wrong side of these bullies. It was for this reason perhaps that the Heaths were prepared not to slit his throat on this particular occasion. He begged for his life in that warehouse and after copious apologies, compliments and telling them everything from the name, address and shoe size of the person he had taken the marble to, they decided, reluctantly, to let him leave with his life.
“On one condition,” said Milbury.
“Yes Boss, anything you say.”
“You leave Bradford this very instant and never return.”
Acton faltered for a second.
“N-now?”
“Do we have a problem? If we do, I’m sure my esteemed brother here would be able to take care of any doubts you have about our deal.”
Berkley grinned and picked up a length of rope.
“No! No problem. You’ll never see me again,” said Acton.
“I should hope not. Otherwise I shall take the greatest pleasure in tearing your arms from your sockets and beating you to death with them,” said Milbury with a serene smile spread across his face.
Acton left the warehouse to the sound of their laughter and he marched briskly towards the railway tracks. He knew what this meant. He walked toward the railway, never to return to Bradford again.
13.
York, England, 1898.
“Oh. You’ve met,” said a surprised Sandy. The two shady gentlemen walked down the stairs and approached Acton, Ash and Frampton.
“Oh yes. We go back a long way, don’t we Mr Turville?” said the younger one. The older of the two stood back, glared at Acton and flexed his muscles.
“Would you care to introduce us then?” laughed Sandy. “Honestly, I would never have thought that Acton kept such esteemed company!”
Acton was trying to remain calm, but Ash could see that he was perspiring, holding back a torrent of nerves.
“Sandy, these are the Heath brothers. Milbury-” Sandy shook the hand of the younger, more vocal brother, “-and Berkley.” Berkley grunted.
“Enchanted,” said Milbury, gripping her hand firmly as they shook and smiling a bit too widely. He lifted her hand and kissed it, a gesture that Sandy couldn’t help but feel repulsed by.
“Gentlemen, thank you ever so much for calling on my help. As you can see, Mr Turville has the goods, as you required. I’m sure he and his crew would be glad to unload it, if you’ll just show him where it can go.”
“Certainly,” grinned Milbury, finally releasing her hand. “There is the small matter of some paperwork which you’ll need to sign Miss Lane, then we can reimburse your costs. Perhaps my dear brother could escort you to our office and get the dreadful business out of the way.”
“Paperwork?” frowned Berkley.
“That’s right. Paperwork,” repeated Milbury.
A few seconds passed before Berkley, a man clearly deficient in the area of intellect, smiled and offered his arm to Sandy.
“Paperwork!” he beamed, like a child who has just solved a particularly fiendish puzzle. Sandy, a tad confused at the exchange, took the large man’s arm and was led up the spiral staircase to the office. The moment the door shut behind them, Milbury turned back to Acton.
“Never thought I’d see you again Acton.”
“Now Boss, I had no idea you were the client. I never would have taken the job if I had known-”
“Shh…” said Milbury, placing a friendly arm around Acton’s shoulders. Ash saw him flinch slightly, then let himself be led to the train. “You’ve no need to explain, old son,” purred Milbury. “I understand. Besides, our agreement was for you to never set foot in Bradford again, am I right? You weren’t to know that our borders have grown considerably since that night. Bradford was a nice town, but as you know, a man yearns for more. We’ve managed to spread our business interests to Leeds and York now. As for our little agreement, well, time rolls on and we all change. Bygones are, as far as I’m concerned, bygones.” He grinned a reptilian grin. “You seem to have done alright for yourself,” he said, winking and nodding up at Sandy in the office.
“Hmm? Oh, no, it’s not like that Boss. She’s just a customer, that’s all.”
“Really? Well that does make our real business here today a little easier.”
Ash processed those words for a moment. The real business. What did that mean? Whatever it was, he didn’t have a good feeling about this. Any man who could make Iron Acton shake with fear was not to be reckoned with. He had a quality about him. Whereas most people have some warmth to them, this man had none. He was cold, as if his soul had left him, leaving just his body and a creepy smile. That turn of phrase was suspicious too. Although he seemed have forgiven Acton for some past misdemeanour, it was obvious he could not be trusted. The more Ash thought about it, the more unlikely it was that Milbury Heath was behind a charity to benefit orphans. The real business. That phrase really did worry him. He was about to ask what Heath meant, when an almighty scream came from the office above them.
The men turned to the mezzanine. Through the windows of the office they could see Sandy being man-handled by Berkley Heath. Ash had only just registered what was happening when he saw Acton and Frampton charging towards the spiral staircase. They leapt up to the office two steps at a time, Ash desperately running after them. He caught up with them at the office door, where Frampton had to batter it down with his shoulder. They all burst through into the room, just in time to see Sandy struggle free from Berkley’s grasp. For a moment, it looked as though Acton’s presence was not required, as an enraged Sandy jabbed Berkley in the side of his large gut, causing him to double over in pain. Berkley was clearly confused at what he thought was a gentile lady fighting back. While he was bent double, Sandy took the opportunity to bring her knee up to meet his nose and a sickening crack echoed around the office. Clearly in pain, Berkley straightened up and grunted as he swung his open hand in Sandy’s direction. She jumped back to avoid him, lost her footing and fell back, but luckily was caught by Acton’s quick reflexes. She recovered quickly and straightened, proud, cool and collected.
Berkley, clearly no stranger to having his nose broken, muttered a curse and twisted his nose again, resetting it. Another sickening crack sounded, but Berkley was seemingly unaffected, or presumably too stupid to register the pain.
Acton and Frampton yelled orders that Berkley ignored, their fists raised and ready to fight. Berkley turned away from them, wiping blood from his nose and simply smiled at a coiled object in his hand. Ash stepped forward and led Sandy away from Berkley. He was relieved to find that she was unharmed, just shocked and angry.
“He just grabbed me and wouldn’t let go!” she yelled.
“Wha’s your game then?” barked Frampton, his face red with rage. Berkley however, was off in his own world and placed the object on the desk lovingly.
Milbury had appeared at the door, looking relaxed. He had taken his time to join them in the office, obviously confident that Berkley was able to cope with any violence which might have ensued. He breezed past them, approaching Berkley from behind.
“Got it?”
“Got it,” grunted Berkley.
> “Excellent!”
Milbury joined his brother at the desk and leant over the object, marvelling at it. As Sandy regained her composure and straightened her clothes, she quickly realised that something was amiss.
“My belt!” she exclaimed. “They’ve got my belt!”
Ash took in their surroundings. It had all the fixtures and fittings of any normal merchant’s office; filing cabinets, desks, train schedules and telegraph machines, but all over the wall and every available piece of desk space were diagrams, notes and photographs, all relating to the belt which now lay unfurled on Berkley’s desk. There were portraits of Queen Victoria, of Prime Minister Brunel and of Sandy herself. There were others too that Ash did not recognise; a North African man in a fez and an old man with a prim white moustache. The diagrams were sketches of the belt, of a route from North Africa to England and of a curved knife that looked vaguely familiar to Ash.
Milbury turned finally and smiled at Acton.
“Good work Turville! Couldn’t have done this without you!” He unfurled a wad of notes from his suit pocket and counted off a handsome sum. He placed the notes in Acton’s top pocket and gave him a wink. “Keep this quiet and get rid of the girl will you? Maybe we can work together again sometime.”
Stunned, Acton looked down at the money in his pocket and then to Sandy, who had a look of betrayal on her face.
“You were in on this?” she shrieked. “This was all some elaborate ploy to steal my old belt? How dare you!”
“No, I-” Acton was interrupted by Sandy swinging her fists at him clumsily. His old fighting instincts did not let him down however and he dodged each blow as they came. She went to strike him again, but Frampton caught her arm and spoke to her in his cool, calming tones.
“Now Miss Lane, Master Acton wouldn’t go betraying you like that. He didn’t even want to take the job.”
“A dirty double-cross for all I know! I’ll have you all arrested for this! I’ll-”
The Heath brothers, who for this time had been engrossed in the examination of their new acquisition, chose this point to break their silence.
“It’s not complete!” said Milbury, banging his fist down on the table. “Where is it?” he said, turning on Sandy.
“Where is what?” demanded a near-hysterical Sandy. She did not know who to trust now. Acton had seemingly betrayed her to the suited brute and the creepy gentleman who stole her belt. Frampton, although a gentle soul, would remain loyal to his employer. Through a process of elimination, Sandy chose to stand behind Ash, using him as a rather ineffective shield against any of the men, should they choose to attack her once more. Milbury smiled and slowly approached her.
“I want the knife Miss Lane. That’s all. After that, you’re free to go.”
“What knife? I don’t know about any knife! And do not tell me if I’m free. I shall do as I please!”
Milbury took another step towards her, but found his way blocked.
“I think you ought to take a step back boy,” threatened Frampton, in low tones. Berkley stepped forward to support his brother, but Acton took a step into his path. The four stared at each other, stony faced, daring someone to make the first move. After a few breathless moments, Milbury smiled and took his brother by the shoulder, leading him back to the desk.
“What’s the matter Acton? My money not good enough for you?” grinned Milbury.
Acton reached into his top pocket and pulled out the wad of notes. He threw them down at Milbury’s feet.
“That’s what I think of your money,” he spat. “Now what do you want? You’ve got her damn belt, for all the good it’ll do you.”
Milbury’s creepy grin spread across his face. The effect was not dissimilar to watching a snake shed its skin; repulsive, yet somehow fascinating.
“Acton, my boy. You always were very naive. The belt will do me a great deal of good indeed, for your information. Or at least it will, when paired with its companion piece, which hopefully Miss Lane can provide me with.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” bellowed Sandy, her hackles still raised.
“No. No, you don’t, do you?” Milbury realised, his brow furrowing. “Miss Lane, may I ask where you came across this glorious trinket?”
“My father gave to me if you must know. He picked it up on his travels.”
“Ah! Your father being Sir Blaikley Lane, of the Foreign Office? On one of his diplomatic excursions to France perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” conceded Sandy.
Milbury gave a pointed glance to Berkley, who returned it with a smile, although it was clear that he had understood nothing from the brief exchange.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” said Milbury, picking up a piece of paper from the desk and handing it to her. Sandy resisted, but Ash took it. It was a sketch of an ornate dagger, the blade curved like a crescent moon and studded with jewels at the hilt. The blade had been crudely coloured in red ink.
“No. Never. Can we go now?” snapped Sandy.
“I’ve seen it,” muttered Ash, his timid voice barely making it above a whisper.
“Shame. It was a present for Her Majesty’s coronation, sixty years ago. It was stolen in transit and never seen since.”
“I’ve seen it.” Again, Ash’s voice was more like a mouse’s squeak.
“We got wind that a collector was interested in recovering the item. A man known only as Hawkstreet.”
“Another criminal, no doubt,” said Sandy.
“Oh yes,” said Milbury. “Although Hawkstreet is notoriously ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He was willing to pay a great deal of money for the blade, along with its companion piece, a jewelled belt, which we naturally recognised as your own.”
“Ow’d you know it was hers?” said Frampton.
“Miss Lane here is quite famous,” said Milbury. “She frequents all the balls in Swindon and her attire is commented on in the society magazines. She almost always wears a wonderful jewelled belt. Here, this article has a rather tasteful lithograph.”
He thrust a magazine at the crew, who eyed it suspiciously. The article had a picture of Sandy with a drink in her hand, smiling and wearing her distinctive belt over linen trousers and a flowing silk blouse. The headline read: ‘DARING SANDY TURNS HEADS AT EMBASSY BALL’.
“Damned hacks,” said Sandy. “I always knew they’d be my downfall.”
“So you concocted a story to get her here and steal it? Are you really that lazy that you couldn’t have gone to Swindon?” asked Acton.
“You know me Acton, never did like to travel far. Besides, where’s the challenge in that? Real power lies in the command of subordinates, the control of others.”
The air in the office was still for a second or two and no one was quite sure what was to happen next.
“So, can I have my belt back now?” said Sandy finally.
Milbury laughed and Berkley dumbly followed suit.
“No. We’ll keep this.”
“Why? It’s worthless without the knife, surely?”
“Ah, but we may still find the dagger. It’s surprising what you can pick up if you listen to the right people.”
“I’ve seen it.”
Milbury looked around the room and eventually settled his eyes on Ash, seemingly noticing him for the first time.
“You?”
Ash nodded meekly. Milbury grinned and ushered the boy to sit down.
“Please, tell all,” he said in a friendly, if patronising, tone.
Although accustomed to talking himself out of a tight spot, Ash found his hosts somewhat intimidating and his story was told in fits and starts, as his nerves got the better of him. He told them of Bishop Cannings, the knife and the Home. Milbury listened intently, encouraging him more and more. It was Ash’s vivid description of the knife’s crimson blade that convinced the Heaths that he was telling the truth.
“There you go Milb’,” said Acton, after Ash had told his tale. “T
he location of your precious cutlery. Should be worth a safe passage out of here, eh?”
Milbury strolled to the office door and slammed it shut.
“Poor Acton. You still haven’t realised have you? You see, Berkley and I are in semi-retirement. We no longer steal and purloin goods from people. After all, it’s far easier to get someone else to do that line of work for you.”
At that moment, Berkley appeared behind Sandy. Although large and dense, it was clear that he was also crafty and quick, for no one had noticed him creeping across the room. He slung one arm across her chest, pulling her towards him. He quickly produced a flick knife in the other hand and exposed its blade with the flick of his wrist. As Sandy screamed helplessly, he pressed the cold steel against her smooth, pale neck. Frampton made a step towards them but Acton halted him using a simple gesture.
“I wouldn’t try anything. My brother is very quick and quite merciless. He could tear her throat out with one fluid movement. I’ve seen him do it before. It really is quite beautiful to watch.”
Frampton looked at Acton, who almost imperceptibly shook his head, to confirm that Frampton should stay where he was.
“You want us to get the knife?” said Acton.
“Yes,” smiled Milbury, pleased that he did not have to explain himself further.
“And you will hold Miss Lane here unharmed? How do we know we can trust you?”
“Because you will hold something that is as dear to me as Miss Lane’s life is to her. The knife.”
Acton nodded and turned to the door, grabbing Ash by the scruff of his neck and dragging him out as he went. As he passed Sandy, he whispered to her.
“I’ll get you out of here Miss Lane. Trust me.”
Want more?
The Crimson Blade continues in
Episode III: It All Ends Here
by Ed Zenith