James swallowed hard and wiped his face. He had seen the wound in Peterson’s eye. The last thing the professor would have seen was one of these blades as it slid into his skull.
‘You should be careful with those things,’ said James. ‘You could do yourself an injury.’
‘Very droll,’ said Ludwig. ‘Now, give us the piece of paper like a good little boy.’
James stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket.
‘Watch him, Ludo,’ said Wolfgang, his voice hoarse. ‘He might be armed.’
‘I am watching him,’ said Ludwig irritably. ‘What do you think I’m doing? I’ve got two bleeding guns pointed at his chest. If he pulls out anything more dangerous than a rabbit I’ll put two holes through him and spit on his corpse.’
James remembered that he still had the other letter in his pocket, the one with the binary code on it.
He didn’t need it any more. Tommy had made a copy. He crushed it into his palm.
‘Here,’ he said, stepping forward. As Ludwig put out his hand for the paper, James threw it as far as he could into the bushes. Ludwig sighed.
‘Go and get that, Wolf,’ he said.
‘Why should I get it?’ said Wolfgang. ‘Make the boy go. He threw it there.’
‘Oh, good idea,’ said Ludwig sarcastically. ‘What a very good idea. Let the boy go traipsing off into the dark and get away from us. You’ve got the torch. Go and get it.’
Wolfgang grumbled as he picked his way into the undergrowth. Ludwig advanced on James, one of the thin, vicious blades pointing straight into his face.
‘You really shouldn’t have done that, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s very annoying.’
‘It was meant to be,’ said James.
‘James,’ said Perry, quietly, ‘I don’t think you should annoy the m-man.’
‘Shut your gob, you stuttering ape,’ said Ludwig.
‘I say. Don’t you call me an ape,’ Perry protested and Ludwig rounded on him just as Wolfgang called out.
‘I can’t find it, Ludo.’
Ludwig looked at the ground then yelled. ‘Well, keep looking, you useless berk.’
Just then there was a terrific commotion in the bushes. Branches thrashed about. Wolfgang yelped in fright and there was the sound of a body crashing to the ground.
‘Help me!’ Wolfgang shouted, his torch beam zigzagging wildly in the air. ‘There’s some sort of animal. Help! help!’
Ludwig turned away from the boys to try and see what was happening to his brother. It was all that James needed. He swung the torch with all his might and took Ludwig behind the ear. Ludwig grunted and stumbled forward, supporting himself on a gravestone. He was stunned but not unconscious.
When the torch had hit him, though, the lights had literally gone out. The glass had shattered and the end had flown off, spilling the batteries.
‘Run for it,’ James yelled. ‘Get away, Perry!’
Perry didn’t wait to be told twice; he hared off down the path without looking back, but, as James tried to follow, Wolfgang charged out of the bushes, like an elephant breaking cover, and collided with him. They both went down.
A moment later Theo appeared, roaring like a monster. Wolfgang rolled over and shone his torch directly into the tramp’s tired face, blinding him. Then there was a double bang and a flash and Theo fell backwards with a small, pathetic cry.
Ludwig was standing there, his guns smoking.
James felt sick. Tears of rage sprang into his eyes and burnt like acid. Half-blind, hardly knowing what he was doing, he threw himself on Ludwig, knocking him to the ground.
As James rolled clear, Ludwig lashed out with one of his weapons. The tip of the blade sliced across James’s chest, tearing his jacket but missing his flesh. James tumbled into the bushes and scrambled away on hands and knees.
‘After him,’ Ludwig yelled at his brother.
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’ve got the torch, you idiot.’
As James groped his way forward in the dark he felt a piece of marble half-buried in the mud, part of some broken monument. He got his fingers round it and pulled hard. It came free just as Wolfgang blundered up, and James let fly at his knee. Wolfgang howled and fell sideways like a felled tree. Then, as he tried to stand, James blindly swung again and this time hit him in the side of the face. There was a hideous cracking noise, the marble broke, and James saw a spray of white fragments fly off through the air: bits of marble and broken teeth.
‘Omnia dentistry fugit,’ James muttered.
Wolfgang was out of the fight, and he’d dropped his torch somewhere. James felt a small glimmer of hope now. He might just get away.
He kept low and crawled deeper into the undergrowth, threading his way past graves and clumps of vegetation, getting soaked and filthy, the sound of the rain masking any noise he was making. He had no idea what direction he was going in, but knew that he needed to work his way downhill, so that he might be able to get back to the road and away to safety.
He risked standing up. He could see next to nothing in the dark under the trees and had to assume that it would be just as bad for Ludwig.
There was no movement except for the falling rain.
OK, he told himself, it’s now or never. You’ve got to run for it.
He had hardly gone three paces, however, before he was caught by a branch, which threw him backwards and he fell awkwardly against a headstone. The blow jarred him and he felt dizzy, but he forced himself back on to his feet.
Ludwig was there, his skull face split in a brown-toothed grin. Somehow he had crept up on him. James backed away, feeling the bendy branch pressing into his back. A thought came to him and he kept moving, forcing the branch backwards, hoping that it was too dark for Ludwig to see what was happening. It took all James’s muscle, but when he remembered what Ludwig had done to Theo, his anger gave him extra strength.
Ludwig chuckled.
‘You won’t get away from me again, boy,’ he said. ‘Squish, squish, I’ll put out your baby blues for what you did to my little brother.’
James could feel the branch pushing hard against his back as it strained to return to its original position. He felt his feet slipping and he dug them in.
Ludwig stepped closer.
‘You saw what I did to Peterson,’ he said. ‘He died without a sound. I pride myself on a clean death when it’s necessary. My blade went straight into his brain. A little jiggle and a twist and it was goodnight, professor, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite. But I’m going to do you nice and slow, boy. I’ll start by sticking you in the parts where you’ve got no vitals. Then I’ll work me way to something more juicy.’
‘You talk too much,’ said James and he flung himself to the ground. He felt a swish of wind as the branch whipped past him, and he heard the thud as it took Ludwig clean in the stomach and swatted him into the bushes.
James didn’t stay to see if he was going to get up again. He dashed out from the bushes and on to the path. He didn’t look back, but sprinted, taking great long strides on the wet mud of the path. Once he slipped and fell, grazing his knees, but he barely felt it, and in no time at all he was at the wall. Still he didn’t stop, but climbed into a tree as quickly and efficiently as a cat, almost jumping from branch to branch. Then he was on top of the wall and he dropped down the other side on to the pavement.
Instantly he was back in the normal world. Standing on a quiet London street on a wet December night. A car hissed past and was gone before he thought of flagging it down.
He looked both ways.
The Daimler was there, parked next to the Gothic chapel and gatehouse.
A plan came to him.
He’d had enough of running from these men. It was time he stopped running and started fighting. He was damned if he was going to be the prey any longer, he was going to become the hunter. He ran past the Daimler and glanced through the iron gates into the cemetery. There was no sign of the brothers, or Perry, for that ma
tter. Well, Perry had had more than enough time to get away; both brothers had chased James.
Perry Mandeville was big enough to look after himself.
James went to the back of the car and opened the boot, then took one last look around before climbing in.
The Smith brothers were going to take him to Fairburn.
He pulled off his shoe, twisted the heel and took out his penknife from the secret compartment and held it ready. If anyone opened the boot they were going to get a nasty surprise.
After a long while he heard voices outside and then a door opening. He felt the Daimler rock on its springs as someone fell heavily into the back. There was a groan and through the seat he heard the two brothers bickering. Then there came a long pitiful moan and the door slammed shut. Soon afterwards there was more movement, presumably Ludwig getting into the driver’s seat. Finally the engine started and they were moving forward. Wolfgang was sobbing and groaning continually now, and every time the car hit a bump there came an enraged whine of protest.
Wolfgang was obviously in some pain. James wasn’t feeling too clever either. All the sensations that had been held at bay by his excitement were making themselves known. He was soaked to the skin and covered in mud. His jacket and trousers were ripped. His skinned knees were sore and one of them was sticking to his trouser leg where it was bleeding. When he added the bruises he had got in the car crash he was in a pretty sorry state indeed.
It was cold and noisy in the boot, but at least it was dry, and, even though he tried hard to fight it, tiredness was chewing away at him. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful half sleep, but he was quickly jogged awake by the car.
He had to do something to keep alert.
Then he remembered the piece of paper in his pocket that he had found hidden in the cemetery.
He fished it out and unfolded it, being careful not to tear it where it had got damp. There was just enough light spilling back into the boot from one of the Daimler’s rear lights for him to be able to read it, although the writing had faded and the paper was eaten away in places.
Dear Alexis… it began, then there were a couple of lines of small talk before it got interesting. I have started work on John’s machine, using the plans you sketched out that evening in Berkeley Square. When it is finished it is going to be gigantic. It will almost fill a room. Whether it will work or not, I cannot say. I do so wish that you were helping me. I feel all at sea sometimes, but I understand your worries. John has not changed. He still holds the same beliefs he held at Trinity. I think you were right about who he is building the machine for…
The next line was illegible and most of the bottom of the page was missing. The only other sentence James could make out read: But what harm can a simple calculating machine do?
James didn’t know the answer to that question. But so far the machine had caused one man to be kidnapped and another murdered.
He carefully folded the piece of paper and hid it in his shoe and concentrated on trying to work out where they were going.
They had left peaceful Highgate and come into a busier part of London. The Daimler stopped more frequently and James could hear traffic noise and voices, presumably people on the streets for a Saturday night out. After a while the traffic died away and the streets became quiet again. James reckoned that they must have crossed central London and come out the other side, but whether they had gone south or east he had no way of telling.
Then at last the car slowed down and came to a halt.
With much complaining and arguing the two brothers got out. The doors slammed and footsteps disappeared into the distance.
James waited a long time, his ears straining to pick up any sounds. Once he was quite sure that it was quiet, he used his knife to pry the lid of the car boot open. He eased it upward and looked out.
It had stopped raining.
James climbed from the boot and closed it. He was in a gated yard of some sort, surrounded by high, soot-blackened walls topped with broken glass. It was utterly deserted and apart from dripping water it was very quiet.
The yard belonged to a big, ugly industrial building. It looked like a factory that had long since closed down. Some of the windows were broken and no smoke came from its tall chimney. It stood dark and lifeless.
Next to the main building, at the back of the yard, was a derelict outbuilding that might once have been a storehouse. The roof had fallen in and all the doors and windows had gone, but in one corner he found a pile of old calendars for the year 1930. They showed a painting of the factory in better days and James smiled when he read the name: The Charnage Chemical Company.
This was the final proof he needed.
Wolfgang and Ludwig definitely worked for Sir John Charnage.
He went back outside and tried the factory doors. They were locked. He wiped a layer of filth from a window and looked in, but could see nothing.
He searched for another door and found that the only other entrance was blocked by a pile of rubbish: rubble and rusted metal, old bottles and cans, a pile of oily rags and some rotted timber.
He heard a distant ship’s horn and walked over to the gates. He wasn’t surprised to find that they were chained and padlocked shut. He coughed and put a hand over his mouth. There was a stink in the air, which caught in his throat. He looked through the gates. There was a cobbled street outside, black and slick with rainwater. A single harsh lamp fixed to the side of a warehouse opposite shone on to a street sign, Carcass Row E1.
He was somewhere in the East End, then. The warehouse and the sounds from the river meant that he was probably near the docks.
The smell suddenly got worse as yellow smoke billowed around the end of the warehouse. He looked up and could just make out the dark shapes of two chimneys against the sky. From the smell of it, he thought it must be a glue factory, or possibly a tannery. The smell was animal carcasses being boiled down. That was probably the origin of the name of the street.
He wondered what to do next. Should he just hide in the outbuilding and wait here for the brothers to return?
No.
He reminded himself that he was the hunter now.
He was going to find the brothers and he was going to pay them out for what they had done to him. Twice they had tried to kill him. They had wrecked his car. They had killed Theo the tramp.
James was going to take the fight to them now, and see how they liked it.
And see how Sir John Charnage liked it, too.
He went over to the Daimler and searched it thoroughly. In the back was a small flap that pulled down to reveal two decanters of spirits, some glasses and a little carousel of cigarettes. There was also a book of matches with a gaudy image showing two tumbling dice, some splayed playing cards and the name The Paradice Club.
He took the stopper out of one of the decanters and sniffed it. It smelt like brandy. Good. If it was heated up brandy burnt like petrol.
He grabbed both decanters and emptied their contents over the seat. Then he collected the rags from the rubbish pile and an armful of calendars from the outbuilding. He stuffed the rags underneath the seat and ripped out some pages from the calendars which he crumpled into loose wads.
When he was ready he took another calendar, rolled it up and put a lighted match to its end. Once it was burning he lit the scattered pages in the Daimler. Soon flames were crawling along among the rags, and oily black smoke filled the car.
James ran to the shelter of the outbuilding and hid himself where he could see both the car and the factory doors.
It was done now, there was no turning back. It was probably crazy but it felt good. His own car had burnt, now it was Charnage’s turn.
He laughed silently.
Then there was a great whump as the Daimler became a raging ball of fire.
17
Paradice
The burning car lit up the whole yard, and James could see dancing, flickering lights reflected on the wall of the warehouse opposite. The fire his
sed and crackled and popped and every now and then there came a louder bang as something exploded in its heart. Sparks flew off in every direction and a pillar of thick, blue-grey smoke rose up into the sky, rivalling the yellow smoke from the glue factory. There now came a tearing, roaring sound as flames burst out from under the bonnet and, with a terrific bang, the windscreen shattered. This was swiftly followed by a series of dull thuds and the Daimler settled on to the cobbles as the tyres burst.
Suddenly the doors to the factory flew open and three men rushed out. The first was a small Chinese man wearing a chef’s outfit, the second was Charnage’s butler, Deighton, and the third was Ludwig Smith.
James smiled. The rats were coming out of the woodwork.
But where was Wolfgang Smith?
There.
Limping and hopping along behind Ludwig, his leg strapped up with a makeshift splint. He had a black eye and an ugly purple bruise down the side of his face, which was badly swollen where James had hit it with the piece of marble.
‘Get some buckets,’ yelled Ludwig. ‘Get water, quick.’
‘I can’t carry anything in this state,’ said Wolfgang, his voice slurred and muffled. ‘And I’m not going anywhere near the car. Not after what happened last time.’ He put a hand up to his bandage and touched the spot where his ear had been.
Deighton the butler ran back into the building. On the way he nearly collided with three more wizened old Chinese men in chefs’ outfits. Ludwig shouted something at them and they shouted something back at him, and then they were shoved aside by an eighth man.
Charnage.
He waved his ivory-handled cane at the burning car and shouted for somebody to do something.
‘Serves you right,’ James whispered.
Soon there was a chain of men passing buckets and pans of water out from inside the building, but it was no good; even if they did manage to put the fire out, the car was already ruined. James remembered the Bentley up on blocks behind the pub in Slough. Its owner had spent months trying to restore her, but she was still a wreck.
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