The door handle turned and the door swung open.
‘Clara? Are you all right?’
Her father stepped into the room. Clara ran to his arms and hugged him, breathing hard.
‘I’m fine, Father,’ she said, gathering herself before pulling away.
37
Stalemate
Lapsewood was beginning to understand why so many prisoners of the Vault gave up their ghosts and turned to dust. He was feeling so thoroughly defeated and hopeless that he had finally agreed to a game of chess with the Marquis. It did nothing to improve his mood, instead adding to his prevailing sense of frustration and self-pity. Even the Marquis, who had certainly had long enough to get to grips with the eccentricities of his game, would get confused about which piece was which. Lapsewood suspected that he used this confusion to cheat, which he wouldn’t have minded if it sped up the game and put them both out of their miseries.
‘We’re never getting out, are we?’ said Lapsewood as he took a piece he believed to be the Marquis’ queen using a piece of rubble he hoped was his knight.
‘Never is not a word I favour,’ replied the Marquis. ‘A positive frame of mind, that’s what you require, my boy.’
‘You’ve never even managed to get beyond the first step,’ moaned Lapsewood despairingly.
‘That I grant you, but how about if I was to tell you that every attempt at escape I have hitherto made was in fact all part of the most devilish plot, which I will now reveal to you if you care to listen, a plot that will surely secure both of our freedoms before the day is out? How would you feel about that?’
‘Go on,’ said Lapsewood, deciding not to mention that the Marquis had just moved a rook diagonally across the board to put him in check. Lapsewood moved a pawn to block the impossible attack.
The Marquis lowered his voice. ‘As you know, it is impossible for us to pass through the walls and doors of the Bureau, and as you also know the Vault was built without holes or cracks.’
Lapsewood agreed that he was aware of these facts.
‘And yet there is one hole,’ the Marquis said. ‘A hole right in front of us. A hole in the door itself.’
‘Oh,’ said Lapsewood, one step ahead of him.
‘The keyhole,’ explained the Marquis.
‘Yes, but it has a cover,’ said Lapsewood.
‘Indeed, it does, although I believe the correct word is an encrouchment. Each time Brinks comes down here he slides it to one side and then inserts the key, with which he opens the door.’
‘And then it swings shut when he removes the key,’ said Lapsewood.
‘Yes, but what if it didn’t? What if something was lodging it open? Then all we would need to do would be to dislodge that object and escape through the keyhole.’
‘What kind of object?’
The Marquis picked up a piece of rubble.
‘Hey, that’s my knight,’ protested Lapsewood.
‘I’m so sorry. Where was it?’
‘I think it was protecting the bishop.’
‘That’s my bishop,’ replied the Marquis.
‘Oh, perhaps it was threatened by it, then,’ admitted Lapsewood.
‘Since it’s my move I’ll take it and continue with my demonstration. The next time Sergeant Brinks comes down here, you will crouch down behind the door with this knight and await the insertion of the key. I will attempt my usual escape so he doesn’t suspect anything, then as he leaves, you will maintain the pressure on the knight. As he removes the key it will take its place, lodging the cover open.’
‘What if he notices that it hasn’t swung into place?’
‘He will not suspect such a thing. He will have just thwarted my escape attempt and I will tell him that you have retreated into the darkness with the rest of the hopeless souls.’
‘What if I push too hard and the piece flies out the other side, or not hard enough and it becomes lodged inside the keyhole instead?’
‘No plan is without its pitfalls,’ admitted the Marquis. ‘But I believe we can do this. Once the piece is lodged, I will turn to Ether Dust and slip through. On the other side I will pull back the cover and aid your escape. It is brilliant, is it not?’
Brilliant was not the word that sprang to Lapsewood’s mind, but a scarcity of options made it worth a go. However, he saved himself the pain of investing any genuine hope in the Marquis’ scheme. If only the Vault had as many holes as the Marquis’ plan then escape would have been easy.
38
Jack’s Last Breakfast
Finally Jack’s last day had come. Jack had stuck to his part of the bargain, remaining out of sight and unheard, and the week had passed without incident, but still his presence had felt like an infection, slowly spreading its disease into Sam’s life. He had stopped asking Sam to bring him alcohol but had continued to drop hints and insinuations about his father’s childhood. Prior to his arrival Sam had heard nothing of his father’s life in Whitechapel. Now, that shady period of Mr Toop’s history occupied Sam’s thoughts. His dreams were infiltrated by scenes of Jack and Charlie Toop, running through the streets of London, pilfering, snatching and laughing. Always laughing.
On Jack’s final morning Sam cooked sausages and eggs.
‘A hearty breakfast to see your old uncle on his way, eh?’ Jack said.
Yes, thought Sam, a hearty breakfast to give you the energy to run as far from here as possible.
‘I trust you have decided where you will go, Jack,’ said Mr Toop.
‘You don’t want to worry yourself about my whereabouts,’ said Jack. ‘I wouldn’t want you feeling you had to lie to any law man who came looking for me.’
‘Harbouring you here this past week is enough of a lie,’ said Mr Toop. ‘I asked whether you have decided, not the whereabouts of where you’ll be. You’re well placed here to get down into Kent or travel to the coast.’
‘I went to the coast once,’ replied Jack. ‘I wanted to see all that water in one place, but it wasn’t up to much if you ask me. And the cold air that came off it interfered somethin’ nasty with my chest. London air’s good enough for me.’ He skewered a sausage with a fork and brought it to his mouth.
‘You can’t go back now, Jack,’ said Mr Toop. ‘You’re a wanted man.’
‘Careful now, Charlie. You’ll get me thinkin’ you actually care.’
‘No matter what has happened between us, I’d not see you hang.’
‘Remember, according to your stipulation, we ain’t brothers once I walk out that door. I’m just a man, and one who’s murdered and all. You tellin’ me you’d not see a murdering man swing by the neck?’
‘You may have no regard for the sanctity of life, but I do,’ snapped Mr Toop.
The kettle started to whistle.
‘And what about you, Sam?’ asked Jack. ‘If they catch me, will you come and watch your old uncle swing for ’is crimes?’
Sam stood up from the table to take the whistling kettle off the hob, leaving Jack’s question unanswered.
‘Wherever you’re heading, I believe it’s time you left,’ said Mr Toop.
‘You’d hurl me out in daylight?’ exclaimed Jack.
‘You have had your week,’ said Mr Toop. ‘If you’d wanted to leave in the dark you could have left last night.’
‘I’ll leave at nightfall,’ asserted Jack.
‘No. Now.’
‘Please, Charlie. Have mercy.’
The two brothers glared at each other across the breakfast table. Jack’s gaze was unrelenting, despite the desperation in his voice.
‘Perhaps it would be better for Jack to leave this evening,’ said Sam. ‘In daylight there is too much danger that a neighbour might spot him. If he was caught, the question would come up of where he’s been hiding this past week.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jack, smiling. ‘Listen to your boy, Charlie.’
‘At nightfall, then,’ conceded Mr Toop. ‘But as soon as the sun goes, I want you gone too, Jack.’
&n
bsp; 39
Destiny for the Dead
Crouching by the door with the piece of rubble clutched between his thumb and forefinger, listening to the jingle-jangle approach of the guard, Lapsewood wondered what had happened to the dull, predictable but orderly existence he had led since he became a ghost. He looked at the keyhole uncertainly. He knew that the chance of success was lower than the Marquis had made out, but the howling screams from the gloom reminded him that without hope he may as well give up his ghost and join the dissipated spirits now.
The Marquis tried to calm both their nerves with a speech. ‘Destiny, some say, is the pre-written story of our lives,’ he announced. ‘But there is no destiny for the dead. We, my friend, are the authors of our own destiny, and so let us write this chapter together and make it end on a happy note.’
Lapsewood was only half listening. The footsteps stopped outside the door. He could hear the guard pulling his keys from his belt. Lapsewood raised the piece of rubble to the keyhole.
The Marquis saluted grandly, then turned to Ether Dust.
Lapsewood saw a flash of light through the keyhole as the cover was moved to the side and the key inserted. He watched the tip of the key turn. He moved back to allow for the swing of the door, but it moved quicker than he anticipated. He jumped back to avoid being hit and lost his grip on the piece of rubble.
He groped in the dark, trying to find it. He heard the familiar sound of the Marquis being whacked by the guard’s Ether Beater and collapsing to the ground.
‘Morning, Marquis,’ said Sergeant Brinks.
‘One day, Sergeant Brinks?’
‘Not on my watch, Marquis,’ replied the guard.
A third voice spoke. ‘Why are these old Europeans always so damned fancy? I swear they put more effort into their make-up than the girls back home.’ Lapsewood recognised it immediately as the southern American drawl of General Colt.
‘The Marquis likes to provide me with regular exercise with his escape attempts,’ said Sergeant Brinks.
‘Escape from the Vault? That’s madness,’ said General Colt.
‘Oh, this one had lost his mind long before he came down here,’ said Sergeant Brinks. ‘You married a pig in life, didn’t you, Marquis?’
‘How dare you talk about my wife like that,’ replied the Marquis. ‘Snuffles was a good woman.’
Sergeant Brinks and General Colt laughed. The Marquis was trying to give Lapsewood enough time to complete his job, but he still couldn’t find the piece of rubble.
‘I’m here to talk to Slapwood,’ said General Colt.
‘Ah, now, I’m afraid that poor Lapsewood has joined the dissipated souls,’ said the Marquis.
‘I told you that would be the case,’ said Sergeant Brinks. ‘Most of them go that way.’
‘Really?’ said General Colt. ‘Then why’s he hiding behind this door?’
Lapsewood looked up to see that the general had stepped inside the cell and was now standing over him.
‘Hello, sir,’ he said.
‘Get up.’ He turned to Sergeant Brinks. ‘I’d like a minute to talk to this prisoner.’
‘I’ve never known such a popular one for visits as this one,’ replied Sergeant Brinks. ‘You can have two minutes, while the Marquis gets better acquainted with my Beater as punishment for lying about Lapsewood.’
He closed the door, leaving General Colt inside with Lapsewood.
‘Now listen up, Slackwood,’ said General Colt. ‘I don’t have much time.’
‘Are you here to release me, sir?’ asked Lapsewood hopefully.
‘Have you any idea how much paperwork that would incur? Don’t answer that. No, there’s no time to release people.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘The thing is, I realise now I may have been a little hasty in suspecting you of being some kind of duplicitous agent working to undermine my department.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Lapsewood uncertainly.
‘What have you to thank me for?’ barked General Colt. ‘After all, I was the one who had you thrown in here in the first place, and as I’ve explained there’ll be no getting you out. I wouldn’t go thanking me.’
‘No sir.’
‘Damn it, you’ve made me lose my thread.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Stop apologising and stop interrupting. I’m trying to explain something. We haven’t much time. The fact is, I’ve looked into your findings and I believe this Black Rot poses a very serious threat if left undealt with.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. But if we go through correct procedure it’ll be weeks, months, even, before something is done. That’s the problem with this place. It can’t move for the red tape that binds it up. If I’d died in my own country I daresay I’d see how efficiently an organisation like this can be run. But there you have it, I was killed in an illegal duel on your miserable grey island. You follow me?’
‘Not really, sir.’
‘Of course you do. You and me, Blackwood, we’re going to shake up this stuffy old place.’
‘We are, sir?’
‘We are, sir,’ replied General Colt.
‘But I’m stuck in here.’
‘That’s right, but if you weren’t, you could get back to London, find your little Rogue friend and sort out this problem, couldn’t you? Although we could not be seen together.’
‘But—’
‘Time’s up,’ shouted Sergeant Brinks, opening the door.
‘Good,’ said General Colt. ‘We’d just finished.’
‘Had we?’ asked Lapsewood.
The Marquis staggered back in, looking dazed from his encounter with Sergeant Brink’s Ether Beater.
‘Yes, all done,’ said General Colt. ‘Save for me to wish you good luck.’ He grabbed Lapsewood’s right hand and squeezed it. Lapsewood felt something cold pushed into his palm.
‘Yeah, good luck,’ added Sergeant Brinks, clearly amused by the idea.
The door slammed shut.
‘Ah well,’ sighed the Marquis. ‘Another plan thwarted, but I did feel we learnt some valuable lessons there. The next attempt will surely work.’
Lapsewood opened his palm. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said.
‘You do?’ said the Marquis, genuinely surprised.
Lapsewood held out the content of his hand for the Marquis to see.
‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘It’s a key,’ replied Lapsewood.
40
The Last Words of Enforcer Dawlish
Enforcer Dawlish prowled through St James’s Park, with his Ether Beater drawn. He was closing in on his target. It was no Rogue ghost he was hunting tonight. The problem with Rogues, as Enforcer Dawlish saw it, was that they could see him coming a mile off. As soon as they did, they turned to Ether Dust and were gone before he even got a chance to draw his weapon. As a policeman, back when he still had air in his lungs, his favourite aspect of the job was clouting criminals with his truncheon. The problem with Enforcer work was that it lacked the satisfaction of a job well done.
This was where the spirit hounds came in handy. They were much more susceptible to Enforcer Dawlish’s clumsy approach, so made ideal targets. Also, not being officially recognised by the Bureau, there was no rule about beating them as hard as he could manage before they scampered off, their rancid tails between their rotten legs.
He didn’t feel any guilt about his nightly dog hunts; the dogs themselves felt no pain and it gave him an extraordinary amount of pleasure when he felt the end of his baton connect with the head of a mangy mutt.
Embankment, Soho and Picadilly had provided slim pickings this evening so he had ventured into St James’s Park where packs of spirit hounds often gathered. He heard a noise on the other side of the lake. A growl. Dawlish smiled. The hunt was on. He moved stealthily across the lake. Mostly the dead dogs were stupid enough to walk straight up to him in hope of getting some affection, but the creature lurking in the darkness was
obviously more timid.
‘Nice doggy,’ he said. He drew his Ether Beater and raised it in preparation.
He saw a wisp of black smoke disappear into a bush. He drew nearer. The animal was jet black and a good size. It would make for a satisfying beating. Enforcer Dawlish gripped the handle of his Ether Beater tightly.
‘Come on, fella,’ he said. ‘Don’t be shy.’
Still no movement.
A challenge, thought Dawlish. This makes a change.
He moved in and took a swing, but his Ether Beater went straight through the beast’s head. Dawlish was confused. This was no living dog and yet he couldn’t hit it. The dog opened its great jaws. Enforcer Dawlish tried to move away but found his movements constricted. The dog was holding him in place.
‘Good doggy?’
These were the last words of Enforcer Dawlish. His final dog hunt ended with his body being torn apart and devoured by the creature that lurked in the shadows.
41
One Tree Hill
After breakfast, Sam left his uncle upstairs and went down into the shop to get on with his chores, which today involved polishing the paraphernalia that filled the glass-fronted cabinet. As Mr Constable always said, the display items needed to look their best if they were to reflect the care and attention that the customers of Constable and Toop could expect. Sam had removed the selection of lid ornaments, inscription plates and coffin handles and placed them on a red cloth on the desk when he sensed a presence behind him.
‘Sam Toop,’ said a boy’s voice. ‘Now if you ain’t a tricky one to track down.’
‘I won’t help you, so you might as well leave,’ said Sam, keeping his back to him.
‘That ain’t very nice after we got on so well at the church and all.’
Sam turned to find the ghost of the boy he had met in Shadwell. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘The name’s Tanner.’
‘What do you want?’ asked Sam irritably.
‘I searched all over for this place, you know, asking everywhere I went. Most ghosts tend to know at least one undertaker. You never forget the man who profited from your death. But it took a lot of asking and a lot of ghosts before I hit upon a fella who’d been put into the ground in one of those lovely death boats your old man is making back there.’ Tanner pointed to the workshop door, behind which Mr Toop could be heard sawing a piece of wood.
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