“I’d love to join you and your grand-mère. Thank you very much. Is that Krampus? You saw Krampus?” Agent Hunter said, taking the card from my hand. “You’re sure? Absolutely sure?”
“Positive. He wears jingle bells on his green cloak and smells of peppermint. He looks exactly the same, down to the basket.”
“Krampus has never manifested in London before. You said nine children have been taken so far?”
I nodded.
“It’s almost Christmas. If we don’t find these children before then—” Agent Hunter began.
“Then Krampus will take them back to the Otherworld with him. The children—Tobias, Lucas, Tom, and the little street rats—were all very naughty children. And little Elizabeth is more spoiled than Princess Helena. He’s collecting some of the naughtiest children in London.”
The color drained from Agent Hunter’s face.
Grabbing me by my hand, he led me to the wall where a map of London was displayed. “Tell me again. Show me where were the children taken,” he said.
“The Strand. Starting around Saint Clement Danes. Here,” I said, pointing to the Browns’ address. “Then at the orphanage, Waterloo—or thereabouts—near the Lyceum, the Alperstein’, who I have not yet met, then last night here,” I said, pointing.
Agent Hunter grabbed a pen from the table and marked on the map. We both stood and stared. Krampus was working the Strand, but his path was leading him directly to Buckingham.
“You tracked him to Saint James Park,” Agent Hunter said stiffly as a terrible realization washed over both of us.
“Yes. Lost him near the lake.”
“I need to send a messenger to Her Majesty. The Princess…”
Agent Hunter was right. If Krampus was hunting naughty children, then Princess Helena had to be his ultimate prize. The Queen’s ill-tempered daughter’s behavior was renowned. Newspapers and cartoon pamphlets joked about the princess. There wasn’t a person in London who didn’t know about her rotten behavior.
I nodded.
“We need to find his lair. We need to work the Park. He must be vanquished, sent back to Hell before nightfall tonight. But we need to find the other children first. Let me send some messages then get into uniform.”
“Of course.”
There was a knock on the door. “Breakfast, sir?” the butler called, pushing a cart loaded with food and a pot of hot tea.
“Clem—Agent Louvel, please, enjoy your breakfast. I’ll get the messages out and join you in a bit. In the meantime, this will prove useful,” he said, pulling yet another book from the shelf and handing it to me. He then hurried out of the room.
Clearing a spot at the end of the table, the butler set out my breakfast then left.
I sat down at the table, poured honey and slipped a bit of lemon into my tea, then took a sip. Perfection. I stared at the beautiful meal before me. My mouth watered at the heaps of eggs, ham, potatoes, scones, clotted cream, and jam. At the sight of all the food, I could barely focus on thoughts of Krampus, demons, and the poorly behaved Princess Helena.
But then another realization slowly washed over me.
I had invited Agent Hunter to Christmas dinner.
And he had said yes.
Chapter 10: Edwin & Clemeny
My belly full of ham, tea, and scones slathered in strawberry jam and clotted cream, I found my way back to Agent Hunter’s chair by the fireplace. With his book in hand, I settled in. I flipped open the book to the title page: A Guide to Wood Sprites, Elves, and Holiday Hobgoblins by S. Rossetti. Inside the book, I found a bookplate indicating that the tome had at one time belonged to Horace Walpole and the library at Strawberry Hill House. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that name and place associated with the preternatural. Mister Walpole was said to be very interested in the occult, and the current resident of the home, the Countess Waldegrave, was no different. I flipped to the table of contents then turned the yellowing pages to the section titled Holiday Hobgoblins. Therein, the author covered all manner of supernatural creatures associated with holidays. There was a hefty chapter on old Celtic Yule lore, the magical uses of mistletoe, the birth of Santa Claus—and the difference between him and Father Christmas—and Krampus.
I skimmed the pages, but suddenly my eyes felt very heavy. I slipped off my boots, curling my feet underneath me, and read.
Krampus, it seemed, was a well-known demon from the Alps, but he had been spotted in many regions throughout the world during the holidays. Early observers had incorrectly connected him to the Celtic god Cernunnos. Instead, he was an Otherworld creature who walked the mortal realm during the days leading up to Christmas. But conditions had to be right for him to enter the mortal realm. Wickedness, particularly in children, created dark energy which allowed him to enter the…the…
“Agent Louvel,” a soft voice called. Someone gently shook my shoulder. “Clemeny.”
I inhaled deeply. Cinnamon.
Wait, did he just call me Clemeny?
My eyes fluttered open. I was still sitting in the chair by the fireplace, but I was covered by a heavy quilt. The sunlight streaming in through the window told me it was after dawn.
Agent Hunter, dressed in his formal uniform, stepped back. He smiled at me.
“I’m sorry to wake you. I don’t think you’ve slept in more than a day, and probably little before that, but we need to get on the case.”
Trying to wake up, I looked from him then around the room. Another chair had been pulled near the fire. A book sat on the seat, an empty cup of tea on the table beside it. Had he been sitting here with me?
“Sorry, sir. I—”
“Edwin,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“Please, call me Edwin. At least, when the other agents are not around.”
“Oh. Thank you…Edwin.” Oh my god, what is happening?
He nodded. “I’ve sent messages to the palace, ordered increased patrols. I also sent word to Agent Fox, asking him to interview the Alpersteins and send in a report. You and I will head to Saint James Park. If my hunch is right, we will find the demon’s portal there.”
Still trying to master the fluttering in my heart, I refocused. “Yeah. Okay. All right. So, if silver doesn’t harm the creature, what do you use?”
Agent Hunter—Edwin—motioned for me to follow him to the table where a wooden case was sitting.
“Before I was promoted, I worked in the field. I assume you already heard.”
“Just rumors. But that’s how I knew to come to you.” There had been a lot of rumors about Agent Hunter’s work before he became lead agent at Shadow Watch, but one tale persisted. Edwin Hunter was the best demon hunter in the realm.
He released the latches on his wooden case. Inside were vials of holy water, silver crucifixes, bags of dried herbs, a few clockwork devices I did not recognize, a bible, two unmarked journals that looked incredibly old, a dagger with a wooden blade, and a stake. “I think we’ll find the right tool for the job.”
“I really need one of those.”
“Well, Christmas is coming.”
I chuckled.
“First, we need to find the demon’s lair. Shall we go hunting?”
Smirking, I nodded.
Agent Hunter closed up his demon hunting case, and we headed outside.
Chapter 11: Saddle Up
I half-expected Agent Hunter would have a fancy new auto, one of those disdainful coal or steam-powered contraptions that seemed to be taking London by storm. Instead, I found his horse saddled outside. The beast I had borrowed from the palace guard perked up when he saw me.
“Yes, I am here to take you home,” I told the beast, patting him on the neck. I slipped into the saddle.
Agent Hunter mounted, securing his box behind him, and we headed off in the direction of the park.
It was still very early in the morning. There was a chill in the air, and a light dusting of snowflakes covered the ground. The delicious scents of gingerbread and sugar
cookies perfumed the air outside a bakery. The shop fronts were decorated for the holidays. Green and red silk gowns, bonnets trimmed with holly, and other elegant frocks were on display in the windows. One shop used a zeotrope to show moving images of Santa in his sleigh flying around the holiday window scene. Other stores offered colorfully decorated Christmas crackers or ornaments for the newly popular Christmas tree. It seemed that whatever Her Majesty deemed festive and fashionable was suddenly becoming a tradition.
We rode across the city to the palace stables not far from Trafalgar Square and just outside Saint James Park.
As we approached, we earned the attention of two soldiers who gave us a hard look and then came our way.
“You there. Why do you have a guardsman’s horse?” one man called.
Agent Hunter pulled his badge from inside his jacket and flashed it at the men. “There’s no need for tone, gentlemen.”
Both men paused, the more outspoken one eyeing me over.
“You’re Agent Louvel?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “And this is Agent Hunter.”
“Agents,” the outspoken man said as he eyed us warily.
I slid off the horse and, taking it by the reins, led it to the man. “With my thanks and apologies,” I said, handing over the lead.
“No need, Agent.”
“We’ll be investigating nearby today. I need to lodge my horse,” Agent Hunter said.
“The stable master is in the office,” one of the guards said, pointing.
With a curt nod, Agent Hunter led his horse in that direction. I followed along. When we arrived at the office, however, we could see through the window that the stable master was already engaged. A distraught stable hand was explaining something in an animated way. The stable master, who’d barely put down a paper he was reading, was trying to dismiss the worried man.
Agent Hunter tied his horse to a post. Without waiting for an invitation, he opened the stable master’s door and entered. I waited just outside.
“It’s just not like Nawali. He would never run off like this.”
“Enough,” the man said, his voice thick with irritation. “Don’t make excuses for him. We both know that boy is always up to pranks. He’ll turn up later today.”
Agent Hunter cleared his throat. Both men turned to look.
“You’re dismissed, Josiah,” the stable master said.
The stable hand exited, his face showing a fit of fear and frustration. He headed back toward the stables. Agent Hunter started grilling the stable master, who was now standing, his attention restored. I went after the stable hand.
“Sir,” I called.
The man did not stop.
“You there. Stable hand.”
The man paused. He looked back. Seeing me, he lowered his eyes. “Sorry, my lady. I didn’t realize you were calling me.”
Because I’d called him sir. “No need to apologize. Agent Louvel. What’s your name, sir?”
“Josiah.”
“You were trying to tell the stable master someone is missing, am I right? Who has gone missing?”
“A stable boy. Nawali. He headed out this morning before dawn to feed and water the horses, and I can’t find the boy anywhere. His grain buckets were sitting in the middle of the stable like the boy just vanished into thin air.”
“This morning?”
“Yes. Before dawn.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Show me where you found the grain pails.”
“Yes, Agent,” he said then motioned for me to follow.
Long rows of stalls housed regal looking beasts. Everything was neatly kept. Guards were milling around, getting their mounts ready for the day.
“How many people are on guard here early in the morning? When Nawali was out?” I asked.
“None, really. There are guards in the yard, but no one would be foolish enough to try to steal from the stables. They’d be shot on sight.”
If anyone actually saw them. “When did you realize the boy was missing?”
“He always gets up before me, so I didn’t think anything of it. But I heard the horses. They were riled up about something, snorting and whinnying, kicking their pen doors and walls. I came out to see what was the matter. I found the pails but no boy.”
“I heard the stable master say the boy is a prankster.”
“He is. But he has a good heart. At times, he takes his jests too far, that’s all. Another hand was hurt recently as a result of Nawali’s pranks. The stable master is not happy with him right now.”
I frowned then followed Josiah to the far end of the stable, which just so happened to be situated across the street from Saint James Park.
“Here,” the man said.
I scanned all around. The horses were standing at the back of their stalls, their eyes wide as they breathed in deeply. I looked all around for some sign of the beast. A soft breeze blew through the barn, stirring up the scents of hay, manure, and…peppermint?
“Do you smell that?” I asked the man.
“Sorry, Agent. The barn always—”
“No. Not that…on the breeze, there’s something odd—”
“Peppermint.”
Hell’s bells. I had chased the beast away from one victim only for him to find an alternative closer to the park. I hadn’t saved anyone, only changed the target.
Josiah bent and picked up a wooden box next to a stack of bales of hay. He opened the lid and looked inside, a perplexed expression on his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
Opening the box wide, he turned it so I could see. Inside were what looked like small flutes. They were very short with only one opening at the top.
“Pipes…kazoo, actually,” the man said. “Like we play back home.” He picked one up and blew through it. It made a rattling buzzing sound. “Nawali must have bought them. There’s enough here for all the boys.”
I counted the pipes in the box. There were ten. “May I keep those for the time being?” I asked.
Josiah nodded then handed the box to me.
“Agent Louvel?” Agent Hunter—Edwin—called.
“Sir,” I said, turning to him. My eyes lingered on his for a long moment, my lips twitching to a smile which Agent Hunter echoed. Realizing that Josiah was looking at me, I reined in my grin then relayed everything Josiah had told me and what he had found.
Agent Hunter listened, his manner stiff and formal, a countenance I’d grown accustomed to in meetings. But I’d seen a brief glimmer of the real man behind that formal posture, and he was everything I had ever dreamed he would be.
“Thank you, Josiah. We shall see to the matter,” Agent Hunter said.
“Thank you, sir. I had heard some children had gone missing, that’s why I was so worried. I tried to tell the stable master. I never thought anyone would care about a stable boy. Why steal him?”
“We’ll sort it out and bring him home,” I reassured Josiah.
“Thank you, Agent. He’s a foolish little boy, but he is dear to me.”
I set a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’ll do our very best. And we will also note in our report that your superior dismissed his disappearance,” I said with a wink.
He smiled again. “Thank you, Agent,” he said then headed back to the stables.
“Ten pipers piping,” I said, showing the box to Agent Hunter.
He nodded then opened his case. He pulled out an odd-looking device that he held by a handle. He turned a windup key on the base. The device opened to reveal meters and lights inside. Keeping it in front of him, he swept it around, scanning the ground. The invention clicked as it worked, ticking more loudly in some places than others.
“Will you hold out the box of flutes, please?” he asked.
I nodded.
When the device was waved over the box, it began clicking loudly and a red light started blinking.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A very talented tinker found a way to track pret
ernatural vibrations.”
“So, it’s like a bloodhound for the unnatural?”
Agent Hunter laughed as he swept the thing all around the exit of the stables. “Indeed,” he was saying when the device went off once more. “And here is our trail. Shall we begin the hunt?”
“Lead the way,” I said with a smirk, my admiration growing for Edwin ten-fold. If this kept up, I’d end up being the one to propose to him.
Chapter 12: Duck Island
We followed the trail as indicated by the clockwork device into Saint James Park. As we walked, guilt nagged at me. I thought I had saved a child, but instead, I had merely led the beast to find another, closer, victim. We needed to get this creature in hand. Immediately.
I kept an eye out as Agent Hunter moved through the park, his device leading us toward the lake.
“The tinker who made this device, who is he?” I asked.
“He’s associated with the Rude Mechanicals.”
Somewhere in the echelons of power above me, a group known as the Rude Mechanicals governed all the strange and unusual happenings in our realm. They had a direct line to Her Majesty and through my superiors, directed our agency. Who, exactly, they were, none of us actually knew. “Interesting.”
“I’ve met him only a few times. I’m not sure what he does for the agency, exactly, but he is very good with such devices. I’ve delivered some intel to him at a pub in Sherwood on more than one occasion. He was always working on his devices while he was there. He was very interested in my work. He made this device for me.”
“Get a name?”
“Robin something.”
“Robin…in Sherwood?”
Agent Hunter laughed. “You suppose he gave me a pseudonym?”
I grinned “Maybe.”
The device led us to an arched bridge leading from the central grassy area of the park to the small island commonly known as Duck Island.
Peppermint and Pentacles Page 6