The Untold Tales of Dolly Williamson: An Occult Steampunk Thriller: Prequel to The Guild Chronicles (The Guild Chronicles: A Steampunk Fantasy Book Series 0)

by J. M. Bannon

  “You also missed the part where a voodoo priest removed the soul from the rich fella.,” it was Rose Caldwell and she had been listening to the small talk.

  Keane looked up. “Jesus Mary and Joseph - Dolly, could you show respect for my everlasting soul and not bring that witch around me? Her soul is already damned,”

  Rose took a chair from another table and twirled it backwards and sat down resting her arms on the back of the chair. “My researcher identified the totem as a spirit siphon. The object functions as a conduit for the spiritual ritual called Pwen Hanan where the soul is transferred to another vessel. My guess is that Chilton crossed a Voodoo Priest and now revenge has been exacted.”

  "Let me ask you something Sister when you burned down that rectory, did a voodoo priest make you do that?” asked Keane.

  "If you would like, I could exorcise the mongoloid demon that controls your mouth?" retorted Sister Rose.

  Keane put on his serious face and reached across the table grabbing Dolly’s wrists “Mate, we’ve known each other a long time. You're the smart one here, you have the chance to move up the ranks but you got to get rid of this heretic. You make us all look bad Fredrick."

  Dolly knew Keane was saying what he felt. He embraced Keane's wrists. “Callum, you have seen what people do to each other. Do you believe all that evil is manmade? I don’t and neither does Rose. Just as you and I have seen horrors together I have seen worse with her.”

  “Well, you both can fucking burn in hell I am sure there is room for one more heretic and protestant but there will be no guilt by association of Detective Callum Keene.” Keene pushed back from the table and walked out of the pub. Dolly moved to go after Keene, but needed to find out what Rose had learned.

  “Could this be fabricated to cover up for a heist?” asked Dolly.

  “You mean the soul stealing? No. Your fat drunk colleague may have it right, but Chilton was under the direction of another through Pwen Hanan not a kidnapping.”

  Dolly shot her a baffled look.

  She continued “I am just learning about this arcana. It is primordial and works along the courses of Necronist seance and spirt manipulation. From the condition of the body I think Chilton was tortured spiritually until he succumbed to the wishes of the persecutor. Maybe he was tortured to get the combination or he could have been enslaved and made to open the safe himself to only later be killed”

  Rose reached into her handbag and pulled something out. Without showing it to him she shifted it across the dinner table and into his hand. “Fredrick, place that charm on your watch fob.

  What is it? He studied the weird talisman of silver. In its center was a glass vial with a brilliant blue gas circulating about. He slid it on to the ring that held a small pen knife at the end of his silver watch chain then stuffed it into his waist coat pocket.

  “That is something I crafted. An apotropaic amulet” she pointed to the stone on the choker she wore around her neck that had a comparable stone. It’s a ward. If we are hunting for a voodooist that can control life force that trinket will provide a defense. If a Mumbo were to beguile you, the enchantment will be limited as it confuses the ward for your spirit energy,”

  A decoy for my soul?

  Rose continued “Yes, the voodoo call the spirit energy Ju Ju, the manipulation of Ju Ju is where the power of the Mumbo lies. They have a primal knowledge and have learned to tap into and exploit this spiritual energy. There are descriptions of the capability to direct the living and the dead. While you still seek the motive and the identity of the fugitive, what I know is that this individual understands and controls the necromantic arts differently than how the Necronists tap into the spirit worlds. If this person could control Chilton while alive or dead they are a dangerous adversary. I don’t want you or I to get close and become enthralled. That eldritch talisman is my best attempt at a shield.”

  SUNDAY THE 12TH JUNE

  8:00 AM The Carlton Hotel

  Dolly was called to the Carlton Hotel, A request for a Sergeant in the Detective branch meant either a serious crime or a matter of discretion with someone in high social circles. In the past, his superiors requested his skillful touch to deal with the affairs of the rich and powerful, always considerate of station and reputation while making certain that the Crown’s law applied to all. Too bad it wasn’t something simple like a lord getting held up by a tramp and her pimp, instead it was another homicide and from the sound of it Dolly now had a repeat murderer to capture. While never one to jump to conclusions when summoned by the constable he mentioned on the ride over, it was another burned up person with no sign of fire.

  He sent the policeman to fetch Sister Rose to the crime scene after he dropped Dolly at the fashionable hotel. He was greeted by the hotel Manager, a portly Frenchman nervously moving around the hotel lobby, agitated by the law enforcement presence. A lobby and hallways with cops drew unwanted attention. He brought Dolly to the suites on the eighth floor via the verticulator. Dolly doubted the chubby Franc ever took the stairs. At the double doors of the apartment stood a patrolman. Standard practice for protecting crime scenes until a detective attended to the scene.

  The spacious saloon included a sitting area, a work desk and a large table for dining. The table unused for dining, instead was buried in packages and bags from the emporiums of Saville Row. Adjoining was the bedchamber and the scene of the crime.

  The body lay near the center of the disheveled bed. The man’s dressing gown was open exposing his bare body, the back arched, pelvis thrust upward and arms sprawled out. What was stranger than the agonized contortion his shape was frozen in, was the state of the body? It was another desiccated, gray and wrinkled corpse lookinglike it was stolen from a crypt. While shocking to the others Dolly was less shocked by the dead man’s condition and far more concerned that his occult killer was on a spree of murder.

  The Manager stood to the right of Dolly and stared at the scene as he spoke. “The accommodations are rented by Señor Emilio Moya he has leased this suite for the last four months.”

  Detective Williamson began his investigation. While inspecting the room he asked questions of the manager.

  “Who discovered the body?”

  “The Valet” replied the Manager.

  “I will need to speak with him.” said Dolly

  “Of course, he is down the hall in the staff room.” replied the manager

  “What can you tell me about your guest?” asked Dolly. He assumed the body was Moya but still had drawn no conclusions.

  The French Manager spoke in a pompous tone about the patron as if it were an advertisement of his hotel. “Señor Emilio Moya can trace his lineage to the most serene house of Braganza, a distant cousin to the King of Portugal. He was not involved in affairs of state but rather was living here in London as a gentleman.”

  “Is he a man of means or inheritance?” asked Dolly. Any guest of this hotel had access to a fortune, it was where it came from that might help shed light on the case.

  “His family had shipping interests then moved into land and sugar cane in the colonies.” replied the Manager, with hands folded. Dolly thought, I wager you have more to tell.

  “Was he seen returning last night with any other persons?” asked Dolly.

  “I wouldn’t know I came in at eight in the morning. The night staff had left.” responded the Manager.

  “Can you get me a list of the staff on duty?” asked the detective as he continued surveying the bedroom before stepping in. He paid attention to the floor to ensure there was no evidence he could disturb by entering the chamber. “Yes,” the Manager replied. Dolly stepped in and moved towards the body. “I will need to interview them, when do they start shift?” The Manager did not follow Dolly into the bed room, he stood outside as if he would be infected by whatever killed the man, “The night staff starts at eleven p.m. and finishes at seven the next morning.”

  At closer scrutiny of the body the right fist of the corpse was distorted and cle
nched as if it had suffered a hundred years of debilitating arthritis, on the ring finger was the signet ring of the Moya Family, Dolly assumed the body was Señor Moya but would need further confirmation.

  The suite had no signs of a struggle, no blood stains or any of the common signs of foul play. Although Williamson knew the item was occult he used his handkerchief to shield from residual poison or magic, that may have laced the totem, Dolly pulled slowly to ascertain the depth it penetrated the body. It held fast and required effort to dislodge. Dolly and the manager were given a shock as the corpse expired a moan and lost all rigor when the object was removed from the wound, it startled the detective so much he dropped the spirit siphon. After Dolly gained his composure, he pulled out a small mirror and held it over the mouth of the deceased to confirm that the subject was expired.

  Putting the mirror away the detective walked to the writing desk to get an envelope for the totem. On the blotter was a note on the hotel stationary it was a man’s hand writing.

  Those that profited have paid.

  E.M.

  He retrieved an envelope from the center drawer in the writing desk and placed the totem in the envelope.

  At that moment, Rose entered the room with her arms full of equipment. Her skin glowed with exertion “Thank the heavens this place has a verticulator. I can’t imagine huffing all this gear up a stairwell,” behind her was a constable carrying more cases.

  “My experiment is ready for debut,” She presented the large black box fixed to a wooden tripod with a flourish and taking a bow. “What you see here is a camera obscura I modified with my scrying lenses. These plates are treated with my tinctures, I bake them into the gelatin. Now step back as I need to vapor the room.” She began to set up the equipment. “You might want to get the Manager and the others out of here.”

  "Ms. Rose Caldwell. Might I remind you that you are here as an observer and your presence is at the whim of the Metropolitan Police Department where you have only one supporter. Me."

  She gave him a square look.

  “You don’t boss me," said the detective. Rose lifted her brow and rolled her eyes “Ok, long one last night?” she went back to opening cases and assembling her contraption.

  “No, Rose it was not. It was a pleasant evening but today isn’t. I have two society types killed mysteriously and you come in here with all this… this hooeypalooley marching me about. I am the Detective Sergeant and you are the crazy lady who sees ghosts through a bottle glass,” and you're also my only lead I have in this case.

  “Detective Sergeant Frederick Williamson, I beg your pardon. May I please have your permission to examine your crime scene?”

  Dolly turned to his men in the drawing room “all right, the lot of you get out to the hall,”

  The room had cleared. After briefing the constable in the hall Dolly came back firing questions, “Rose what do you make of this note?”

  Rose walked over to the writing desk. “I’ll capture images to see what I can scry but it looks like our culprit is still sending messages,”

  “Oh, you might want to look at this," Dolly took the envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Rose. “It one of those spirit siphons. I had quite the shock when I removed it from his chest, poor fella let out a gasp and collapsed. I thought for a minute he was still alive.”

  “A death knell,” said Rose.

  “A what...”

  “A death knell, there was a lingering spirit essence still affixed and when you tugged out the siphon, he exhausted his dying breath.”

  “So, he was dead?”

  “He might not be dead, but trapped or banished, I can’t tell, but I know this body had its life force extracted like Chilton." She turned and smiled “That death knell is a good sign there is residual energy here,” mentioned Rose before placing the amber lensed goggles that hung about her neck over her eyes. She set three of her incense burners in the room then waved a hand fan to create circulation. Dolly stood out of the way he always wondered if he should breathe normally when she was vaporing the room. It must be all right Rose never wore a mask.

  Rose reached into a case and pulled out a glass slide and placed it in the top of the camera. She stood to the side of the camera. “Dolly does your pocket watch have a second hand?”

  “It does,”

  “Fantastic, would you be a dear and let me know when fifteen-seconds has passed. Start timing once I remove the lens cap.” Dolly reached into his waist coat, pulled out his watch and popped open the cover, “ready.” "Go" said Rose, as she lifted the cap.

  “There’s fifteen,” said Dolly. She replaced the cap and switched the photo plate.

  "Rose, what do you make of it when folks like Keane call you..."

  "A witch,” rose completed his sentence.

  “He is a good bloke. Devout you know and a great cop. He’s cleared more murders than me.”

  Rose set down the plate. “Fredrick, I have never broken my vows and plan to never do so. When I joined the Sisterhood, I joined to seek out the truth and understand the spiritual. I learned that the unseen is far beyond any one dogma and many times that dogma and the arcane become subordinate to the will of a single man and that's when ill comes to be.” The two took over ten imprints of the desk area where the note was placed and the bed where the body lay. As Rose packed up her equipment, and the mortuary removed the remains from the room, Dolly questioned the Valet in the hall.

  "Mr. Yardley how long have you been working for Mr. Moya?" asked the detective.

  "I don’t work for Señor Moya I am a hotel employee and serve several of the gentlemen on this floor prepared to pay for service."

  "Did Mr. Moya happen to share with you where he was going last night?” Dolly followed up.

  "Yes, he did. He was meeting Mr. Randall Strathmore and a Mr. Owens at Whites for drinks and whist." replied the valet.

  “Is that the Strathmore and Owens of Chilton, Chilton, Owens and Strathmore?”

  "Why yes, it is. Señor Moya’s a client of the firm and my understanding his family and the Chilton’s have socialized for generations.” added the valet.

  Dolly now had two dead bodies within a week, with identical ends that only an excommunicated nun could explain. Now it appeared there were social connections if not face-to-face meetings of the two dead men.

  As he finished up his question with the valet, he watched Rose make her way out of the suite with all her kit. “What happened to the cases where a fella shot his old lady for running around,” mumbled Dolly.

  “What was that Detective?” asked the Valet.

  “Nothing, just reminiscing about the good old days.”

  MONDAY THE 13TH OF JUNE

  7:00 AM Scotland Yard

  Monday morning and the detectives were back in the pen with the commissioner for case updates.

  Dolly arrived early, having managed only a few hours sleep between the Carlton crime scene investigation and his need to prepare for the weekly case review starting any minute. As rough as Dolly felt from a deficit of sleep, Keane reflected it physically in the manner he showed up at the branch office.

  “What’s the steam lorry driver’s name that drove over you?” questioned Dolly.

  Keane was pale and looked flu ridden. The tall detective sat down at the adjoining desk that faced Dolly.

  “Dolly I ain’t been right all weekend. I guess I ate bad mutton or something foul at Albies. Me head is throbbing, and I been all woozy,” Dolly stared at him with no outward expression, "It's called a hangover.” Then went back to organizing his notes.

  "I felt like this since Saturday morning and I haven't had a drop since I was with you" replied Keane.

  Commissioner Mayne walked into the pen. There was no formal command in the branch. Younger detectives were subordinate to detective sergeants but no superior officer existed so all the detectives reported to Commissioner Mayne. To keep the office on task, Mayne held a weekly meeting where he listened to the comments of each police offi
cer and could administer direction to the group. “All right gentleman let’s have it. You start Keane,”

  “I have a wash up on the Thames, awaiting affirmation from the mortuary but it looked like a stabbing before they deposited her in the river.

  I closed the Clove Row murder. It was Ginger Kelly, another member of Sweeney's gang. Apparently, Sweeney and Ginger were both rolling the same music hall singer, and it came to blows. After Ginger beat Sweeney to death, he passed it off like the Green Street boys, to protect his arse and stir up the strife between the gangs.

  I have been putting in time down at the gas works helping Dolly with keeping an eye out for trouble." Keane finished.

  "Detective Keane you seem out of sorts,” stated Mayne.

  "I feel out of sorts. I guess I got bad mutton on Friday"

  "Dolly, do you have further to introduce on the case at the gas works?" Mayne asked.

  Dolly looked up from his papers "I looked around and made it known I was watching. Talked to one organizer named Nelson Bruce,"

  Several of the detectives called out “Brucie,” then the entire group chuckled.

  “As you can tell commissioner, comrade Brucie is an admitted Marxist, with numerous arrests for disrupting the peace and one conviction. He served a year hard labor. I put him on notice,” said Dolly.

  "Thank you for the update, detective Sergeant why don't you continue with your case load," suggested the commissioner.

  I have the Chilton Case, Sir Chilton found dead in his Belgravia office on Sunday morning June sixth. Further investigation turned up a burglary of about five thousand gold guineas worth twenty-thousand in pounds’ sterling from his offices in the City of London,” one of the detectives in the pen let out a whistle when he herd the huge sum, dolly was seasoned enough to talk over the rabble. “I am working with Sergeant Jones of London Police who is lead on the Robbery. I opened another homicide case last night, Emilio Moya, a national of Portugal with connections to nobility. His corpse turned up in the same condition as Chilton. I will consider these incidents together as my conclusion is that the cause of death was the same, thus the culprit is also the same.