Queen Victoria: Demon Hunter

by A. E. Moorat

  Victoria, who had grown up with the old systems and had neither cause nor desire to question them, had watched his progress in this area with concern-she was unhappy to see her staff disconsolate, even if, as Albert assured her, it was for the greater good-but also admiration and a feeling of having the great love she felt for him justified. She watched him and, she hoped, she learnt from him. She loved him, but she also felt for him a great respect, an admiration for the clear-eyed, determined manner in which he dealt with those problems that either vexed him, or for which he cared very much.

  Having taken matters at the household in hand, Albert had turned his attention to another situation, that of the family's finances and it was this, he'd told Victoria earlier, that he wished to speak to her about. Quite out of character, he had suggested they go outside to talk, joking about the walls having ears, even though he would usually have gladly avoided a perambulation in the cold.

  'It is refreshing, though, Albert, don't you think?' said Victoria, holding his arm with both of hers and putting her head to it, snuggling into him. The footmen might raise an eyebrow at such intimacy, she knew, but she didn't care. She wanted his closeness. This, for her, was like a walk in the park on a summer's day.

  'It is most bracing, Victoria,' said Albert. 'I'm sure those parts of my body not suffering frostbite are finding it most rejuvenating.'

  Normally a staunch advocate of that which was proper, he allowed her to burrow into his arm, she was delighted to note, making her happiness complete.

  She laughed. 'I love the cold, you crave heat. I could spend all night listing our differences. What is it that brings us together, Albert?'

  'Neither of us like turtle soup,' he said. 'Perhaps it is our shared distaste for this broth that provides the glue in our union.'

  'Ah,' she laughed, 'yes, that could be it. Who on earth would want to eat a turtle anyway?'

  'Quite,' said Albert, 'one always thinks of the head of a turtle and is put in mind of something most unsavoury.'

  'Albert,' she admonished him with a clap on the arm, 'I do believe you are being vulgar.' She looked behind them to check on the proximity of the footmen, whose faces remained impassive. Some way behind them she saw a third footman, moving as if to join them. Further away, on the roadway leading to the Castle were two carriages, and she briefly wondered their purpose; indeed, thought about raising the matter with Albert, but had second thoughts, not wishing to spoil the moment.

  'I am truly sorry, Victoria,' he laughed, 'sometimes I forget myself.'

  They strolled on, in the direction of the maze. Victoria was thrilled to see that it had a dusting of frost, so that the bushes seemed to shimmer with light, that and the fog on the ground created something most beautiful to behold, as though the maze were a white castle, suspended in the night air.

  'Victoria,' said Albert, most grave, 'there is something I need to discuss with you.'

  'Yes, Albert,' she said, worried all of a sudden by the change in his demeanour, but she knew the moment was inevitable; she'd been expecting it since he suggested they take a walk.

  They had reached the entranceway to the maze and went inside, the beautifully manicured hedges rising high above them, their layers of ice glinting. The fog swirled about their feet, higher in here than outside, thicker, compressed as it was by the corridors of giant topiary.

  'As you know, I've been looking into your mother's finances,' said Albert.

  'Yes, Albert?' They had reached the first corner and she stole a look behind her, seeing the two footmen. Distantly she wondered about the whereabouts of the third. She heard the sound of a horse and carriage, drawing nearer, perhaps returning from the Castle. And she ignored a tiny, gnawing nagging feeling she had that all was not right.

  'There are many...' he was choosing his words carefully, '...irregularities.'

  'I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Albert,' said Victoria, confused.

  'Victoria,' he said, 'it appears as though there is money missing from your mother's funds. A not inconsiderable amount. Enough, in fact, to suggest that money has been going missing from the account for some time now.'

  She caught her breath, stopped; she looked back to see the two footmen stop also.

  'Conroy,' she gasped.

  'Yes, Victoria,' said Albert, looking into her eyes, 'it would seem that Sir John is the person responsible for the removal of the funds.'

  She felt a mixture of disgust, anger and elation, the latter because this development could mean only one thing. 'He must be dismissed,' she said fervently. 'He must be dismissed from the household at once.'

  At that moment, there was a howl, a bloodcurdling animal howl such as Victoria had never in her life heard before, that ripped through her and chilled the blood.

  She gripped Albert, who tensed, looking up as though something might have appeared at the summit of the hedge, then he looked into her eyes, said, quickly, 'There is something else I must tell you, Victoria. Something I have been keeping from you-that it has been my duty and destiny to keep from you, yet I find that I no longer can, for I love you too much to harbour this secret a moment longer...'

  There was another howl. From where it came Victoria was not sure.

  'What is it, Albert?' she said. Her hands went to his cheeks, and she found herself wanting but not wanting to know-because she knew that what he had to say would change things she wanted left alone; could destroy her happiness. But even so. 'What is it, my love?'

  But before he could answer there came a high-pitched scream from behind them, then the sound of tearing, like a dead tree branch wrenched from the trunk. And Victoria and Albert turned-just in time to see the werewolf tear off the second of the footman's arms.

  The beast had transformed from footman into wolf. He still wore his white breeches, which had split during his metamorphosis to reveal the muscled, hairbound legs beneath; his feet had burst the leather shoes and were paws now, tipped with deadly claws, as were his hands, the whole of his upper body bulging beneath the frock coat; his face was now a snout, teeth bared in a low growl, above it his wig remained in place.

  The beast held the writhing torso of the other footman, whose last moments were, no doubt, spent first in shock as his colleague transformed from human into slavering wolf, then in pain as the wolf ripped his arms from him. The footman now dropped to the ground and fell forward, the fog billowing up around him. The wolf stood over him, put one foot to his back and dragged it back in the manner of a bull pawing at the ground-and tore the man's spine from him.

  The wolf looked at Victoria and Albert. It snarled.

  Then, it charged.

  'Run!' shouted Albert, pushing Victoria ahead of him and shielding her, but too late, for the wolf had covered the distance between them in moments and just feet away, leapt, its legs pulled up, one paw thrown back poised to slice through Albert.

  But it didn't reach the Prince.

  It met Hudson instead.

  Hudson, who at that moment had dropped into the maze, having jumped from the top of the hedge-a second early enough to save the Prince from certain death, a second too late to formulate an attack. For instead of besting the wolf with the advantage of surprise, he was able only to knock it off balance and the two of them went sprawling.

  'Go, Your Majesty,' shouted Hudson. 'Run!'

  Then, as they obeyed, Hudson scrambled upright and drew his sword, facing the wolf, which had regained its feet and now regarded him, snarling, flexing its claws, just the two of them on the pathway now.

  'Good boy,' said Hudson, 'good doggie.' In his hand he twirled his sword so that it caught the moonlight, which reflected from its razor-sharp blade and barbed hooks. 'Got a tasty bone here for you,' he goaded the wolf, 'here, doggy, come and get it. Din dins.'

  The wolf smiled.

  'Fuck you, Protektor,' it said.

  And leapt.

  In one fluid motion, Hudson twisted, turning side on to the wolf so the target was small and slicing horizontally with the
sword in a move that should have opened the chest of the wolf. But it had anticipated the action-just-and reached one paw to the ground, to pivot, coming in low, leading with its hind legs.

  It made contact and Hudson felt the breath leave him, caught off balance and staggering back a few feet before regaining his stability, facing the wolf once more, which stood, glaring at him, then smiling as, without breaking its stare, it reached to pick off something from one of its hind paws-something that was snagged there.

  Something that shone wetly in the dark. That led back from his hand-Hudson followed it with eyes-into Hudson's lower stomach, which gaped open, his intestine stretched taut from within it like a grotesque, bulging umbilical cord.

  'Oh, God' said Hudson, staggering a little. He dropped his sword. His hands went to his stomach, to his intestine, which he grasped as though to try and reel it back into himself, and for a moment it seemed as if Hudson and the wolf might be about to enjoy a game of tug of war, Hudson's innards as rope. Then the wolf was winding in his end and Hudson was pulled towards him, moaning in pain, unable to prevent himself being dragged towards the jaws of the wolf.

  'Here, doggy,' said the wolf as it pulled, 'time for din dins.'

  Victoria and Albert heard Hudson's scream and clasped one another in shock. They had been running, blindly, but now stopped, Albert took Victoria by the shoulders. 'Victoria, listen,' he said, 'we must take a hold of ourselves. The many hours we have spent in this maze, we know it better than anybody at Windsor, better than any wolf. He can track us if we make noise, but if we are quiet we can use our knowledge of the maze to our advantage and find our way to the exit.'

  'No,' she said. 'They'll know that. It'll be just what they're expecting. There is another one, Albert, a third footman. I saw him talking to the man who transformed but have not seen him since. He'll be at the exit.'

  'What makes you say that?' he said.

  She looked at him, bemused, 'It stands to reason, Albert,' she said. 'If I was trying to catch us that is what I would do. Come. We need to use our greater knowledge of the maze, that's true. But not to find the way out. To outsmart our pursuer and double back to the entrance.'

  'Victoria,' said Albert, grinning despite it all, 'you never fail to surprise, did you know that?'

  She smiled and touched his cheek. 'I shall never forget your bravery back there, my dear. Ever,' she said. 'If it had not been for Hudson you would have met the wolf's claws that were meant for me. You were prepared to die for me.'

  'Always,' he said.

  'But not tonight, though,' she said, 'not here.'

  She touched a finger to her lips, listening, hearing the thump of feet, the sound of the wolf slashing at the hedge. The wolf, she reasoned, having finished poor Hudson, would be moving through the maze making as much noise as possible in order to keep them moving towards the exit, where the second beast would strike. She assumed that it had many of the attributes of the wolf, which would include heightened sense of smell. However, it wasn't tracking them-his role was bush beater, nothing more-so had no need to use it. Even so, she untied her bonnet, took it off, then reached and removed Albert's top hat from his head.

  'What?' he said.

  'For the scent,' she said, tossing them to the ground, 'it might buy us some time. Come on.'

  Listening carefully they made their way noiselessly along the pathway. From over to the right they could hear the wolf, noisy as before, but seeming closer now. Crouching low, they reached a junction and Victoria concentrated for a moment, conjuring the image of the maze in her head. Left. They needed to go left. She hesitated, trying to place the wolf in the maze but finding she was unable to do so. She looked at Albert. He nodded: take the risk. They scuttled quickly left, then right, then stopped in a new pathway, listening. Now they stood but stayed low, and then began to move more quickly, Victoria realising with a surge of relief that the crashing of the wolf was more distant, allowing herself to believe that they were going to reach the entrance and that the next howls they heard would be of frustration.

  They went right. Then left. Still walking as fast they dared, Victoria with one hand holding her skirts, the other holding Albert's hand as he led the way, until they reached a pathway parallel to that which led to the entranceway.

  Almost there. Almost there.

  Then the hedgerow in front of them exploded, and they were covering their faces to protect themselves from a shower of leaves and branches, thrown off-balance as the first wolf burst through a hole in the hedge, its paws whirling like mechanical clippers, and was standing before them.

  The wig, now, was somewhat skewwhiff on its head. It reached up to straighten it then pointed a finger at Victoria.

  'Clever girl,' it said.

  'Go, Victoria,' managed Albert.

  But then the wolf was attacking, streaking forward, arms flailing and both Albert and Victoria were knocked backwards, Victoria, in particular, was flung several feet back, landing badly in a tangle of bombazine and woollen coat, the breath knocked out of her. For perhaps half a second she lay dazed, and in that moment steeled herself for the swipe of the assassin's claw.

  But it didn't come. And then she was scrambling to her knees to see the wolf standing over Albert, who lay bleeding, half propped up against the hedge. As she watched, Albert twisted his head, saw Victoria on her knees and cried, 'Run!'

  The wolf bent to Albert

  'No,' screamed Victoria.

  But then instead of striking Albert the wolf placed a paw to his neck, finding a pressure point, and instantly Albert's head lolled as he lost consciousness. Next the wolf was picking him up and tossing him over one shoulder.

  It wasn't her they wanted, she realised with a sick lurch. It was him. It was Albert.

  And she threw back her shoulders and with all her might screamed into the sky.

  'Maggie Brown!'

  XXV

  'I'm on my way, lassie,' screamed Maggie Brown, who rode Henstridge, brother to Helfer, as loyal and as brave a mount as his sibling, and crucially as agile, because Maggie rode Henstridge into the maze and she wasn't slowing down. Not even when she passed the remains of Hudson, the sight of her fallen comrade hitting her like a punch to the ribcage. (As she rode by his body she swore a silent vow of revenge for him.) Not even when they reached the first corner and Henstridge seemed somehow to defy his own huge physicality in order to turn it flawlessly; as angry, Maggie guessed, as she was. As desperate for vengeance as she was.

  'I'm on my way!'

  Maggie was cursing herself. Cursing Conroy for creating the diversion. Where was Hicks, she wondered? He would be inconsolable, she knew. She thundered along the pathway, around another corner. Here, the hedge had been destroyed. 'Maggie Brown,' came the second scream. The lassie. She was on the move. God, what was she up to? Was she trying to get herself killed?

  'Where are you, Your Majesty?' shouted Maggie, urging Henstridge on. She knew the maze well. Heaven knows she'd tracked the two lovebirds through it enough times. Even so, she was wary of taking the wrong turn, leading Henstridge into a dead end, wasting precious seconds.

  'Maggie,' came the shout in reply, 'I'm here. I'm here.'

  'Well stay there, then,' Maggie called.

  'They've taken Albert,' came the response, so desperate and so impassioned that Maggie Brown thought she would take it to her grave.

  Above her appeared Vasquez, bow in hand, quiver at her back, making her way across the top of the maze by leaping across the pathways from one hedgetop to the next, neither losing her footing nor breaking stride, fitting an arrow into her bow as she ran, the ice detonating beneath her feet.

  'Vasquez,' called Maggie, passing beneath the archer who leapt over the top of her, 'can you see her? Can you see the Queen?'

  'I'm on it, sir,' said Vasquez, running the length of a hedgetop then, without pause, jumping to the next.

  'I see her,' she called triumphant, 'I see the Queen.' Next, darting along the top of this hedge, she was addressing
Victoria, 'Your Majesty, I have your back.'

  'No,' screamed Victoria, out of sight, seen only by Vasquez, 'not me. Save Albert.'

  'Yes, ma'am,' and Vasquez was on the move again, now in pursuit of the werewolf, leaping across the dividing hedges until she stopped suddenly having found her man.

  In a blur of movement she snatched an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to the bow, which she raised, drew back the sinew with which it was strung then took aim, tracking her quarry.

  'I have him, sir,' she called, 'permission to fire.'

  'Do you have a clear shot?' called Maggie.

  Vasquez paused. 'Negative,' she said.

  Vasquez used arrows tipped with strychnine. If one of them even grazed the Prince he would be dead within seconds. But the wolf was big.

  And Vasquez was good.

  The best.

  'Take the shot,' commanded Maggie Brown.

  Vasquez tensed.

  'No,' screamed Victoria. Then Vasquez was unsteady on the hedgetop, it having been shaken from below, by the Queen no doubt. Her aim spoiled, Vasquez was throwing up her arms in a gesture of annoyance, turning to shoot a look of frustration and disbelief at Maggie Brown, who-at last-and with every muscle in her body screaming from having clung so hard to Henstridge as he'd taken them through the maze fast and strong and sure, came bursting from the exit and onto the lawns of Windsor Castle.

  For a second she thanked their lucky stars that the huge maze shielded them from the windows of the Castle, although on second thoughts it hardly mattered. Anyone peering out would surely have kept quiet about what they saw for fear of dismissal on the grounds of being a drunkard or, worse, shipped straight to Bedlam as a madman.