The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption

by Denny, David S

  Jonathon chuckled to himself quietly, if they only knew who he was, the thought amusedly. He reached the bar and a short, fat and bald man with a large moustache smiled at him from behind the glass and beer strewn bar top. “What’s it to be Captain." he grunted, his eyes alighting on the red ribbon tied around Jonathon's top hat. He studied the man closely, his mind slipping gently into the bar tenders. “Has Amaril Caldecott been in today?" Jonathon asked casually. The dirty white aproned bartender guffawed loudly, his face exploding in amusement.

  “Sure ‘as Captain. Why y'ask? 'e a friend of yourn then?" he questioned, an amused tone in his voice. Jonathon smiled and shook his head.

  “He has something of mine, I need back." The bartender laughed again.

  " 'e owes just about everyone 'ere somethin' ." he said motioning to the faces who had tuned in to the conversation at the bar. "But I don't ‘spect anyun us'll be gettin' it back now."

  The watching High Hats laughed. Jonathon was infected by the High Hat humour and laughed himself, yet was intensely frustrated.

  Jonathon delved into the bartender’s mind and saw the reason for the his amusement. Jonathon examined the memory of a small wiry man being dragged protesting down the steps at the far end of the bar room by two High Hat thugs. Jonathon laughed again and moved towards the

  steps. As he began to descend the barman shouted to him. “Bring me somethin' back Captain, if there's anythin' left - maybe the wart off the end of ‘is nose! " he laughed loudly. Jonathon smiled and waved to the bartender and quickly descended the worn, damp steps which emerged onto the lower street levels below Black Leopard and Chain Street.

  The poorly lit street extended perhaps a hundred yards in either direction before terminating in newly constructed walls, which isolated the domain of Silus Flax's High Hats from the rest of Dubh below street level.

  Lining the dim streets were brightly lit shops, brothels and ale-houses, which were the source of rowdy male laughter and squealing and screaming women. Only High Hats were to be encountered here.

  Along the gutters patrons of the bars and brothels sat or slept off the hangovers of their days activities. Jonathon could barely believe the numbers of dark coated men here, there were far more than he had ever imagined existed in the whole organisation. The ranks of the High Hats had been rapidly increased recently and the air of expectancy which filled the dens of vice here was overwhelming.

  Jonathon crossed the street and, passing through an archway, descended another flight of steps to another street level. The scene was almost the same here as on the other level, except that all the High Hats wore the same red ribbons around their hats as he did, and he realised that this level was dedicated to those of a Captain's rank only.

  Again he moved onwards and downwards. The guard at this level nodded as he Jonathon began his descent to he next street level, letting the Captain pass but never taking his heavy lidded, almond eyes off him. Jonathon sensed a tension in the air here. He could feel the scrutinizing gaze of the level guard drilling into him. Something disturbed Jonathon, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end.

  He quickened his pace and ran down the remaining stairs. He heard a light flutter of footsteps behind him and realised that he was being followed. The stairway led on to yet another street like those above, but here another set of stairs continued his right and downwards. Jonathon moved down these steps and waited in the shadows of a shallow alcove from where he had a clear view of the landing which led out onto the street above.

  He could hear no footsteps now, but he could feel the stealthy approach of his pursuer. On the landing a man stopped and looked out onto the subterranean street. Although he wore the garments of a High Hat, Jonathon sensed that this man was not what he seemed.

  The light from a smoky, oil soaked brazier extenuated the man's unusual features; his narrow crescent lidded eyes, his high cheekbones, small flattened nose and perfectly white and shining teeth. But the man's bronzed and weathered skin gave away more of his identity. He was a Tan. An intruder like Jonathon. Jonathon stepped out into the light and the Tan whirled around to face him.

  He stood frozen for an instant and then drew a large curved dagger from beneath his cloak before leaping down the steps towards Jonathon. Managing to dodge the sweeping blade he caught his assailant's arm as it came down and threw the Tan intruder onto the steps onto the next landing.

  The man staggered to his feet, bruised and winded, frantically searching for his dagger. A glint of flame on metal informed him that his intended victim was now armed with his weapon.

  The Tan smiled and advanced slowly back up the steps towards Jonathon. The panting Tan was tensed ready for Jonathon's attack, but it never came. His antagonist smiled and tossed the dagger back to him. The Tan studied Jonathon with puzzlement for a while and then slowly thrust his dagger back into its sheath.

  Jonathon sat down on the steps and looked down at the Tan who gazed back at him, then spoke in a whisper.

  “It seems I am not the only intruder here today. Since we both share no love for Silus Flax or his High Hats I see no reason why we should become enemies, do you?"

  The Tan did not reply, but Jonathon had noticed the Tan raise his eyebrows at the mention of Flax's name. Jonathon tried again to induce some vocal response.

  “Am I right Tan, do we share a dislike of this man Flax or perhaps your superiors do, is there any reason why we should not become allies here today?"

  Again the Tan did not speak.

  He stared at Jonathon for a while then motioned him to follow him down the stairway and the next landing and the light of a brazier. Jonathon joined him and the small Tan opened his mouth and indicated that Jonathon looked in. Warily he looked into his mouth.

  An impressive set of teeth greeted him, but the Tan's tongue was missing. It had been recently severed, its cut edge still ragged and sealed with a hot iron it seemed. The Tan smiled wearily and grunted, then pointed to Jonathon's top hat and drew a cross in the air as he shook his head. Jonathon did not understand. The dumb Tan smiled and sighed and rummaged through his pockets before producing detailed drawing of a man's face. A beak-like nose set on a square, pock marked face a large mouth with teeththat seemed to big for it, were sufficient to reveal the identity. The small, black, bottlemless staring eyes put it beyond doubt. It was Silus Flax. The bearer of Flax's image took out his knife and drew it across in front of his own throat. Jonathon realised that this Tan was here to kill Flax, he would deprive Jonathon of his destiny. He smiled and nodded in comprehension.

  “Where is he?" he asked.

  The Tan assassin shook his head and waved his hands in front of his head in a confused manner, indicating that he did not know - that Flax had gone. He had been here, but now was not. Jonathon looked into the Tan's mind. Flax had gone. The Tan knew that he had been here, but now he had gone, but not by the normal exits. He could not find him. His superiors had instructed him to find the High Hat leader and kill him, but Flax had disappeared into thin air.

  The Tan had asked questions regarding his whereabouts, but no-one seemed to know, that was why he had attacked Jonathon. He had hoped to overpower him and torture the information out of a High Hat Captain, who seemed to be intent on important business rather than waiting for something to happen as most here seemed to be doing.

  That something, the waiting, was what had disturbed the Tans leadership. They had suffered Flax long enough, now many more men had been recruited into the ranks of his organisation than ever before and his usefulness had been outgrown. He was up to something and they had sent Chan into their midst to find out what. Chan made no attempt to resist Jonathon's mental intrusion, in fact he seemed used to it, and gave up all that Jonathon wanted to know. Jonathon continued his mental probing.

  Chan the Tan was a spy and assassin. Arguments concerning Flax's fate were high on the agenda in the Tan hierarchy. Certain leaders wanted him dead for no other reason than they feared him. Others, on Flax's payroll, pressed for m
ore information first, while planning to inform him of the dangers in the meantime.

  Some argued that he was no threat at all to the might of the Tans, his High Hats were hopelessly outnumbered despite the recent increases in their ranks. He was useful too, since he was the only source of skilled labour, since with the use of threats and bribery, the Black Gaffer pulled the strings in all the Machine Halls now.

  In the end they had sent Chan to find out what Flax was up to and if he planned any action against the Tans, he was be killed. Chan had carried out the first part of the operation half-heartedly, he had been here to kill Flax regardless of what Flax intended to do. A bribe he had received from those who feared Flax and wanted him dead, was all the motivation he needed to find anf kill him. Chan was a simple man. He would carry out orders and if those orders carried reward, those orders, rather than any others, would be carried out.

  Jonathon's gesture of returning his dagger, when Chan was at his mercy, convinced him that Jonathon was an ally in that they were alone together amongst enemies. He questioned Jonathon's motives no further.

  From amongst the information he had gleaned from the Tan, Jonathon knew that he had been here in their stronghold for days, watching their comings and goings. If he had been watching their activities then surely he would have noted Milly's arrival and that of Amaril Caldecott. “Have you seen a man called Amaril Caldecott” he asked hopefully. Chan nodded the affirmative and Jonathon's heart skipped a beat. He grasped the Tan's shoulders and peered expectantly into his narrow black eyes.

  “Did he bring anyone with him, a prisoner perhaps?”

  The Tan paused for thought, slightly taken aback by Jonathon's intensity. He had been watching for Flax, but had noted the arrival of a strangely attired prisoner and the triumphant entry of the distinctive character of Amaril Caldecott. He nodded again and Jonathon felt a wave of triumph and reflief surge through his body.

  His obvious pleasure seemed to excite the Tan and he smiled broadly in unison. Jonathon could hardly contain himself. She was here!

  “Where did he take her!" he shouted. The Tan spy indicated that his excited ally should follow him. With Jonathon in tow, the Tan led his unlikely companion deep into the High Hat headquarters. They moved cautiously through deeper and deeper street levels that were crowded with High Hats who just seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

  They passed through large and hastily organised dormitories they had been set up in the streets amongst the ale and whorehouses, until at last they reached a huge hall and moved slowly around the balcony which ran around its entire circumference.

  The old Victorian music hall, which served as a great outer chamber to Flax's apartments, was almost empty, only a couple of guards were posted to the doors which led to Edgar Morrell's hall of temporary rule.

  As the two intruders peered down two muffled

  musket shots rang out from the inner hall. The guards outside raised their weapons as the doors swung outwards. A pair of High Hats carried the body of another High Hat between them and then threw it to the ground before returning to the chamber and closing the heavy doors behind them.

  Chan nudged Jonathon as the two crouched low on the balcony and mouthed words.

  " Cal-de-cott." Chan mouthed. " Am-a-ril Cal-de-cott." He repeated it and jabbed a finger at the corpse which lay in an ever widening pool of blood. Jonathon leapt to his feet, fearing that Milly was behind the door too.

  Fear and desperation drove him along the balcony until he reached a sweeping stairway which brought him out the opposite side of the hall and the doors from where Amaril Caldecott's corpse had been carried.

  He did not stop. He charged across the floor of the auditorium toward the bemused guards who looked up to see the figure of a High Hat Captain hurtling towards them.

  This caused them no alarm until he was close

  enough for them to see his wide eyes and bared teeth. By then it was too late. One guard raised the barrel of his musket in his general direction, but did not have time to aim properly. Jonathon felt the musket ball whiz past his head, and then half collided, half charged the man with the musket at full speed.

  The guard went down and stayed down, his nose broken and bleeding where his assailant's head had hit his face. Jonathon was slightly dazed and staggered to his feet as the other guard drew his short sword and raised it above his head.

  The sword flashed down towards Jonathon who stepped backwards and fell over the prostrate body of the other guard, his backward fall helping him to avoid the High Hat's wild slash at his head. Jonathon flailed around on the floor desperately grasping for a weapon as the guard stepped forward again. His hand grasped the barrel of the fallen man's musket and, struggling upright, swung it wildly towards his attacker. The musket butt struck the guard in the right temple. There was a loud crack of breaking bone and he crumpled onto his knees with a moan, attempted to rise again, and then fell heavily to the floor.

  By this time Chan had reached the bottom of the stairway and had begun to run across the hall towards Jonathon. The two heavy doors opened and the guards emerged from inside to investigate the noise. They sighted the intruder sprinting towards them and aimed their weapons at him.

  Chan saw them and began a ducking and zigzagging run in a effort to confuse their efforts to make him an easy target. In an explosion of smoke and flame the two guards fired simultaneously, their shots echoing around the auditorium.

  The Tan assassin screamed out loud, but whether it was in pain or some battle cry Jonathon never knew. The little man's course straightened out now as the guards hastily attempted to reload their muskets, their ramrods sliding hastily into barrels, but Chan had produced two pistols and fired them at the two guards.

  Both of them fell together and Chan whooped again, in what was obviously a tongue less victory cry, as he leapt over their bodies and sped into the hall beyond.

  Jonathon struggled to maintain his balance as he staggered into the inner hall behind the Tan, carrying the sword which he had taken from his own felled assailant. A fight was already taking place inside. A huge muscular man swung a sword at Chan who rolled away from the slashing blade. The Chief of Assassins was alone in the room, his two guards dead outside. Chan had hoped to find Flax here, but finding the Chief of his Assassins was enough to make up for his disappointment.

  Edgar Morrell was a large man, but was not hindered by his bulk. He moved swiftly and efficiently and the agility of the Tan assassin was tested to the limit in avoiding the blows of his sword. Chan circled the huge Morrell now, his discharged pistols discarded in favour of his curved dagger.

  Morrell laughed and lunged again at his weaving antagonist who rolled athletically away from the deadly sweep of slashing blade. The Chief of Assassins grinned at Chan, enjoying the contest and swept into the attack again.

  Jonathon edged around the two combatants, slipping into the shadows which clung to the ante- chamber's walls. Behind Morrell's he noticed an iron clad, barred and padlocked door. If Milly was anywhere she was behind that door he decided.

  Moving around the ante-chamber close to its cold, damp stone walls, he paused beneath a dimly, flickering oil lamp. He realised that Milly was not behind the door. He had hoped she was, but knew that she was not. He

  had known since he entered the auditorium and been consciously afraid to use his psychic powers, because if they had revealed nothing he would have been thrown into the pits of despair. Yet, for an instant during the fight outside he had done so, unconsciously, perhaps because if he had died outside these doors he would have known whether or not he had died in vain.

  Now he knew. Now he accepted what his powers had told him in that instant that Milly was not here, but he used his powers again and realised that she had been here and, more importantly, had not died in this place. He found her fear etched into the stone of the damp walls like a shadow, she had suffered here yet still lived. The walls had recorded a thousand such and worse events as prisoners had been brought
before Silus Flax for his judgement. Jonathon could now see it all, he had tapped into this reservoir of despair unknowingly in a desperate attempt to find out her fate; and the Ghosts in the Stone spoke to him.

  His intrusion had breached the walls and all they held, the energy of pain and despair stored there was now loosed upon him as if the stone could no longer bear its grim secrets. He moaned as the horrors which had taken place here began to materialise before him. The ante-chamber darkened before his eyes and a great weight, like a blanket of cold, iron chain mail fell upon his soul.

  The ghosts of the victims of the High Hats and Silus Flax emerged into the hall in their hundreds, their staring horror ridden eyes and pain etched faces seeking out he who had breached the dykes which had held them in the stone sanctuary of nothingness.

  Howls of anguish, fear, despair, bombarded Jonathon's sensitive soul and he braced himself against the now freezing walls in shock. Spectral arms reached out their icy fingers towards him and, as each touched him he felt himself being savagely leeched of energy. The faces implored him to help them but, as their eyes met his, he felt their misery, the very fear and anguish they had felt here and it was transmitted to him for him to experience. They saw him as their saviour and were unwittingly crucifying him.

  They pleaded with Jonathon for salvation. He had released them from the nowhere of the halls wall, reunited ghosts with memory. Now they pleaded for him to release them from their renewed agonies. He had to fight them as they came to him and embraced him one after another. He was weakening fast, close to unconsciousness. He grew afraid. He knew of their plight, but he knew who they were, what they were – another product of the corruption of Dubh, their despair the power on which the foul

  spirit of this sick City fed and which they themselves, by virtue of their inhumanity, were inextricably a part of. Only Hell would have them and this would be no release, for they were already in another one and, if Jonathon's plan succeeded, he would condemn them to it for eternity. He was not and never could be, their saviour.