Onyx City (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 3)

by P J Thorndyke

  Two guards fell dead in a matter of seconds and a third hightailed it into the complex, crying out the alarm. Mr. Clumps holstered his smoking gun.

  “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you come in with me,” Lazarus told him. “Stay here and keep the exit open. I don’t want to have to fight our way through a company of men on our way out.”

  Lazarus removed his cap and jacket and ruffled his hair before heading towards the gun shop. Soldiers pounded along the walkways above him towards the exit, and he heard Mr. Clump’s Webley speak out several times. A worker wearing a red velvet navvy jacket stood with his back to him, working hard at his bench. Lazarus tapped him on the shoulder and offered his own coat, plus the three shillings that was in its left pocket, in exchange for the tattered red garment. The deal was made and Lazarus slipped further into the shop, hatless and sporting a different attire.

  He headed for the offices, confident that he had not been long enough in this underground kingdom for anybody to recognize his face at a glance. Some of the soldiers he had been training that morning might pose a problem, but they were surely still going through their drills on the parade ground.

  He arrived at Pedachenko’s office and hugged the wall. By peering in through the window he could see that the office was empty. Where had he taken her?

  He crept along towards the corner, his fingertips brushing the wall. He nearly leaped out of his skin when his hand touched bunches of what felt like curly hair and he drew his revolver instinctively.

  “I thought you had been executed!” Mary said in a voice that did not suggest she was particularly relieved to be wrong.

  “We persuaded them to give us a stay of execution,” Lazarus told her. “What on earth are you doing crawling around here on your hands and knees?”

  “Trying to stay out of view of those windows! Get down before you get us both shot!”

  “They won’t know me from any other worker in this place. Unless I run into Pedachenko or Levitski.”

  “All right for some. I don’t think I could pass for a rundown seamstress even if I did pinch mesself a new coat and bonnet.”

  “How did you get away from Pedachenko?”

  “Gave him a nasty sting!” she held up a bloodied penknife triumphantly. “Always carry one after that business with the High-Rips. He was trying some of his brain-mangling nonsense on me and was so caught up in his own babble that he didn’t see me cut my ropes until it was too late.”

  “Brain-mangling?”

  “He’s a hypnotist like Miss Buki. He’s got half the soldiers here under his spell. Makes sense, really. I can’t imagine why anybody would stay in this dump unless their brains were scrambled.”

  “Good God, do you think he was involved in whatever happened to Mansfield?”

  “Lord knows. If he wasn’t, then hypnotism is a trend that has really taken off in London.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Wish I bloody did. I stuck him in the shoulder and while he was moaning and shrieking I got away. I hid around the corner and watched him stagger off to summon his cronies. Thought it best to stay put until the way was clear. But to be honest, I didn’t have much of a plan beyond that.”

  “We’ll get out together. Clumps is holding the door open for us. We only have to get through the workshops without being seen.”

  “Easier said than done. By the way, did you come back just for me?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, that’s gentlemanly, I must say, but you’re still a filthy liar.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this but it really wasn’t your business. I didn’t want you caught up in it...”

  “I don’t mean all this. I always knew you were a copper. I’m talking about you letting your friend—the Ripper—go scot-free.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “When I left your place that day I gave you the bottle of ointment, I tried to get home but got caught up in the mob. I stuck with them for a time—strength in numbers—that sort of thing, but when they started looting shops I took to my heels. That got me in worse trouble; a girl on her own, ’specially one in my profession. A gang of men chased me and nearly got hold of me, but I doubled back for your place.

  “When I got there I saw you two leaving with that... that monster, with no chains on him! I saw you get him into a cab and take him up west! I couldn’t believe my eyes! After all your promises of doing your best to keep me and other girls safe, all your claims to want to keep him contained! I knew then that you were a liar when I saw you taking him off to his jolly freedom. Where is he now? Ripping up girls in the West End? Out of sight, out of mind, is that it?”

  “Mary, it’s the ointment that is his stimulus. Without it there is no Hyde. No Ripper. The safest place for him is in his hotel, well away from the East End and its... well, its ladies.”

  “The safest place for him is Colney Hatch. Or Brookwood Cemetery.”

  “I don’t have time to discuss the ethics of it all with you now. We need to get a move on. Put your shawl over your curls—they’re your most striking feature.”

  “Blimey, d’you think so?” Then she remembered herself. “Don’t try to flatter your way out of my bad books!”

  Lazarus ignored her and they headed out onto the shop floor, conscious of the clattering of boots on the walkways above. The tailors were so concerned with their work that none noticed them slipping between their ranks. Nevertheless, they hadn’t gone more than a few yards when Mary began to have serious doubts.

  “We’ll never make it!” she hissed. “We’ve still got the gun shop to get through. We’ll be spotted for sure!”

  “Just keep calm and don’t draw attention to yourself. Keep pace with me. Don’t rush.”

  They made it out of the garment sweatshop and into the munitions factory. They got halfway across the floor and could see the arched exits at the other end when they were rumbled.

  “Halt!” bellowed a soldier on the walkway above.

  The entire shop stopped what they were doing and a deathly silence fell over the room.

  “Turn around!” came the command.

  Cursing their bad luck, Lazarus and Mary slowly turned to face the rifles trained on them from above. A door slammed open at the rear of the chamber and Dr. Pedachenko strode out onto the walkway, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his white frock coat.

  “Are you still with us?” Pedachenko asked Lazarus. “Excellent. Miss Kelly can watch you die before she faces her own execution. Bring them to me!”

  The soldiers began to descend the stairs, keeping their rifles trained on them. Suddenly, two shots were fired in quick succession from the direction of the exits. Two of the soldiers tumbled headlong down the steps, both struck by bullets.

  The workshop erupted into a furor of screams. All eyes were on the figure of Mr. Clumps as he strode the length of the room, firing shot after shot at the men on the walkway. Answering rounds thudded into him, wholly unnoticed by the mechanical. Lazarus grabbed Mary and dragged her behind a workbench.

  A bullet struck Mr. Clumps in the face and the clasp that held his mask on snapped. The steel face clattered to the floor and there were further cries of alarm as those who dared peep from cover saw the half-face of livid flesh, glassy eyes and missing jaw.

  “Saints preserve us!” said Mary, gaping at the mess of pipes and tubes that formed Mr. Clumps’s speaking apparatus. “What is this friend of yours?”

  Pedachenko’s laugh rippled in the air above them. “A mechanical! My dear boy, you’ve brought me a mechanical! And how cleverly disguised! I had no idea they could be so inconspicuous. Mechanite powered? But of course. The real question is how and why the American governments let the British have one of their precious slaves. But it is mine now. Imagine what we could achieve with a few grams of mechanite, comrades!”

  “You’ll have to pry it from his lifeless shell and over my dead body, Pedachenko!” Lazarus called up.

&nb
sp; “This is where I’m supposed to say ‘as you wish’ or some dime novel cliché like that,” Pedachenko retorted. “But I’ll go one better. Listen to me, comrades! I want all three of these intruders dead and the brave ones who do this for me will receive double food rations for two weeks and halved working hours! Put up your rifles, men.”

  The soldiers on the walkway fell at ease. Lazarus looked around at the workshop. Men and women were beginning to emerge from their cover, eying them. Nervous hands fingered heavy tools.

  “He’s got them so starved and overworked that they’d rather kill us for a few extra scraps in the mess hall than fight for their own freedom!” Lazarus told Mary. “So much for socialism. This is slave-to-the-wage pure and simple.”

  “Get up and get behind me,” Mr. Clumps said, his voice strange now it was no longer muffled by the mask.

  They fell into a tight triangular formation, each protecting the backs of the other two. Mary had only her knife, which she held out like a toasting fork. Lazarus didn’t doubt her intention of sticking anybody who got too close.

  “Head for the exit,” said Lazarus.

  They moved slowly, a wide circle of workers enveloping them like a pack of hungry wolves. Lazarus noticed several of the soldiers edging along the walkway to the stairs by the exit, hoping to cut off their escape. He fired a couple of shots at them and made them think twice.

  Somebody got too close to Mr. Clumps and the mechanical fired without hesitation, killing the man instantly. The crowd fell back, unnerved.

  “Now!” Lazarus yelled and they turned and fled.

  It took only a heartbeat for the workers to recover their wits and give chase. Several shots rang out from the walkway, but missed their targets who were quickly through the exits. Soon, the three escapees were pounding along the platforms towards the tunnel. Lazarus felled a soldier that appeared out of nowhere and leaped over his body as it slumped to the ground.

  It was useless to lead a mad chase down the tunnel with fifty factory workers after their blood, but Lazarus had a better idea. “After me!” he cried, cutting left through an archway that led to the culvert and the armored vehicle hanger.

  “We’ll be killed!” Mary said, eyeing the water that thundered below the iron bridge. “What’s to stop us from being sucked under and drowned?”

  “Can’t you swim?” Lazarus asked her.

  She shrugged. “Dunno. Never tried. Not much call for it in Limerick, unless you go in the sea which is too cold by half.”

  Lazarus groaned. “Well you’ll have to learn pretty sharpish or we all wait here and face the mob.”

  The crowd of workers was fast approaching down the corridor.

  “Look, I’ll hold onto you,” Lazarus told her. “All you have to do is keep kicking with your feet and only take a breath when you get the chance.”

  “Where does all this water go, anyway?”

  “Some reservoir, I expect. Or maybe direct into the Thames.”

  “All right then. But you hold on to me bloody tight, mister!”

  “Good. Ready?”

  “No,” said Mr. Clumps.

  “What?”

  “I can’t join you.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I’m not waterproof. My furnace would be dampened and I would sink to the bottom.”

  “Christ, I never thought of that! What can we do?”

  “You both go. I’ll fight my way down the tunnel and we’ll meet on the surface.”

  “All right, but I want no heroics from you, Clumps. Just push through and get to the nearest station or exit you can find. We’re headed for the nearest police station. You do the same and I’ll put out a telegraph for you.”

  “Get moving then,” said the mechanical and he lumbered off back the way they had come, his pistol lighting up the brick arches with orange flashes.

  Lazarus grabbed hold of Mary’s hand and jumped, pulling her down with him to hit the foaming torrent below.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In which the revolution begins

  They rose up in a flurry of bubbles and broke the surface, gasping for air. It was dark—the echoes of dripping water told Lazarus that they had emerged in one of London’s underground reservoirs. Mary’s dress and petticoats were sodden and she weighed a ton.

  “Keep kicking!” Lazarus told her, frightened that she might pull him under.

  “I’m trying!” she spluttered.

  A faint light flickered across the water’s surface far out in the blackness. Lazarus made for it with Mary’s arms over his shoulders. It was a hard swim, but eventually his knees banged against the brick steps that led up towards the light. A vertical ladder of iron rungs led up to a barred inspection cover through which light streamed.

  Lazarus put his shoulder to it, heaved it up and slid it across. They emerged, sodden and cold, in what looked like a park lit by moonlight. They wrung the water out of their clothes and stamped about in an attempt to get warm.

  “I’ll catch my death like this!” Mary complained.

  It was no exaggeration. The October night was chill and the wind cut through their soaking garments like a knife. They had to find somewhere warm, and get into some dry clothes quickly.

  “Any idea where we are?” Mary asked.

  “Not a clue. Still in London, at least.”

  They headed over to the iron railings that fenced the park and spent some time looking for a cab. When they got one, Lazarus told the driver to take them to the nearest police station.

  The sergeant at Muswell Hill Police Station eyed them skeptically as Lazarus told him that they had recently escaped from an underground (in every sense of the word) revolutionary society that intended the overthrow of the British state. He was even more skeptical when the bedraggled and dripping man on the other side of his desk claimed to be a government agent, with an urgent message for Whitehall which must be sent immediately.

  It was a frustrating ten minutes as Lazarus told and retold his story, while they stood dripping wet with the sergeant frowning at what he clearly considered a raving madman and a prostitute who had recently taken a drunken plunge in the River Lea.

  Eventually the message got through that they were to be taken seriously. They were given blankets, hot tea and were allowed to dry themselves by the little potbelly stove in the parlor, while the sergeant saw that Lazarus’s message was sent. It would go directly to Morton’s office.

  “My superior will have the military flush Pedachenko’s revolution out of its warren, like rats from a sewer,” Lazarus told Mary as they sipped their tea, steam curling up from their clothes.

  She did not answer and he sensed that in her heart she still poured scorn on him.

  “Look, I’m sorry about Mansfield,” he said. “But I really acted in everybody’s best interests. I couldn’t very well leave him in Limehouse while Clumps and I went on this jaunt with the revolutionaries.”

  “I don’t suppose you left anybody to guard over him at his hotel?” Mary asked. “Police or anybody?”

  “No, I can’t allow his condition to become known. But you must trust me on this, Mary. I would never do anything that would put you or any other girl in danger. I promise.”

  “What’s become of Mr. Clumps?”

  “I mentioned him in my dispatch. They’ll find him and have him sent here.”

  It became apparent that some sort of excitement was unfolding by the main desk. Sergeants and inspectors hurried in and out of offices with bits of paper and there was a general feeling of tense agitation.

  “What’s up?” Lazarus asked the sergeant at the desk.

  “Sounds like your underground boys have made their first blow against us,” the sergeant replied gravely. “Somebody just detonated a device in the London Stock Exchange.”

  “Christ almighty!”

  “The wire’s on fire with it. We’re all being notified to watch out for any similar attacks. This sound like your Russian fellow?”

  “Absolutely. The
re is no shortage of explosives in his lair. He must be accelerating his plans after our escape. He knows that I can lead the authorities to his lair and is starting his war right now!”

  “Then he must be halted in his tracks,” said a voice. A tall man with a dark brown side parting and a long moustache stood in the doorway, removing his hat. Lazarus recognized him as Sir Charles Warren, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. A second man with large side whiskers stood beside him. Lazarus felt he had seen him before but couldn’t remember where. They both wore great coats and had just come in from the cold. “But what we need to know from you, Mr. Longman,” Warren went on, “is where he will strike next.”

  “I can’t answer that, sir,” said Lazarus. “I was put in charge of training his troops for a morning, but was not privy to his master plan.”

  “You mean to say,” broke in the bewhiskered man at Warren’s side, “that you had a hand in training this army of lunatics at his command?”

  “This is Inspector Frederick Abberline from Scotland Yard,” said Warren. “He used to work for A Division and knows your superiors very well.”

  Yes, Lazarus might have seen Inspector Abberline at Whitehall but it was far more probable, he felt, that he recognized those graying whiskers from the press reports of the police’s investigation into the Ripper murders. Abberline was one of the chief officials on the case.

  “My involvement was minimal,” Lazarus explained, “and entirely necessary to keep my cover.”

  “Your cover?” said Abberline with a snarl. “I don’t know what orders Morton gives you fellows, but it goes against my gut to be forced to let you prance all about this city as if you were above the law. If I had my way you’d all be locked up for obstructing justice. I know all about the red tape that Morton slips you boys under, red tape the rest of us have to stick by.”

  “Calm yourself, Frank,” said Warren. “We don’t have time to vent our frustrations concerning other agencies. Now then, lad. Anything you remember that might be of any help?”

  Lad? thought Lazarus with indignation. If these old fools had seen half the things he had in the pursuit of his ludicrously dangerous missions all around the world in the service of the empire, they’d be treating him with a damned sight more respect.