Queen Victoria: Demon Hunter

by A. E. Moorat

  For what they would have seen was the Queen, sprinting across the lawn with her skirt held in one hand, the other pumping as she ran-and by God the lassie was fast-in pursuit of a werewolf wearing a footman's wig.

  It ran on all fours, and would no doubt have been even further ahead were it not for the burden it carried-the Prince consort-taking him towards one of two carriages waiting on the roadway. The one in front was a larger Clarence, while in the rear was an open, six-seater wagonette but each of them, Maggie saw now, was manned by a werewolf in a footman's wig. The driver of the Clarence was readying his horses, at the same time shouting encouragement to the wolf that bore the Prince, urging it to hurry.

  As this was happening another wolf was clambering onto the wagonette behind, exchanging words with the driver, which pointed, drawing its comrade's attention to something approaching.

  Hicks.

  He was running from the direction of the other side of the maze, sword drawn. From his expression Maggie guessed he had stumbled upon the body of Hudson and instantly she was concerned. They were not brothers-not by blood-but they were blood brothers and Hicks could be reckless at the best of times.

  The wolf on the wagonette reached for a bow.

  Hicks, out in the open, blind with rage and grief.

  Behind Maggie, Vasquez dropped from the hedgetop to the ground, landing badly, rolling.

  Maggie reaching the Queen now.

  'Your Majesty,' she called, and Victoria turned to see Henstridge bearing down upon her, the breath billowing from his nostrils, and she was just in time to ready herself for Maggie Brown, who in one smooth and fluid movement, scooped her up and deposited her behind her. Henstridge never broke stride.

  'We must reach him, Maggie,' said the Queen, out of breath from running.

  'We'll reach him, Your Majesty,' said Maggie Brown and she spurred Henstridge on.

  The wolf on the wagonette fitted an arrow, drew back the string; in his sights, Hicks, still running.

  'Vasquez,' screamed Maggie Brown but Vasquez must have been ahead of her because they heard the fizz of an arrow that cut through the sky past them, Vasquez firing at speed but without accuracy as the arrow missed its target, thunking into the side of the carriage instead. However, the archer swung towards them, sensing the new threat, and let off his own arrow in haste. It missed but grazed Henstridge at the flank, opening a wound there, neither fatal nor crippling, but painful enough that Henstridge rose up, whinnying and Maggie and Victoria were both thrown as Henstridge's legs buckled beneath him and he pitched to the grass where he lay, snorting in frustration.

  The first wolf had reached the Clarence and bundled Albert inside. Victoria saw and scrambled to her feet.

  'No,' she screamed.

  And began running, sprinting across the lawn, her skirts held. Good lord, the lassie had guts to spare, marvelled Maggie Brown, regaining her own feet, drawing her two swords and taking off in pursuit of Victoria.

  'Go,' she heard from the wolf at the first carriage, Albert safely aboard now.

  'Yar,' roared the driver in response, whipping his horses into action. The carriage began to move.

  'Albert,' screamed the Queen and her free hand was outstretched as she ran but she had no hope of reaching it now and instead she changed direction, heading for the second carriage. Maggie did the same.

  Maggie had never before seen a werewolf bearing an expression of surprise, but that was precisely the look worn by the bowman on the wagonette which realised there were three people now bearing down upon his carriage. I'm a werewolf with a bow and arrow, his expression seemed to say, you're supposed to be petrified of me.

  'Go,' he commanded the driver.

  'Yar,' came the gee-up in response and the wagonette shot forward catching the werewolf off balance and sending him tumbling to the well of it.

  Which gave Hicks just enough time to board, reaching the rear of the carriage and pulling himself up to it with barely a pause. Already the wolf was there to meet him, though, claws swinging and Hicks found himself adopting a defensive stance.

  The carriage was picking up speed but Victoria reached it, arriving from the side and grasping one of the seat uprights. For a few seconds she was running at its side, the carriage moving too fast for her legs and Maggie feared she might let go and be pulled beneath the wagon wheels, but then she was, with great athleticism, swinging herself up and into the carriage, able to arrive unimpeded as a result of the battle that already raged on the wagon. Maggie, now, reached the carriage. She grabbed Victoria's outstretched hand and was pulled aboard.

  In short succession, the driver screamed something at the bowman just as the bowman sliced Hicks across the chest, eliciting a scream of agony from the Protektor, who tumbled from the carriage and into the road in the same moment as the wagonette burst from the gates of Windsor Castle, moving at such a speed now that it tilted on to two wheels as it skidded out on to the highway.

  'Hicks,' screamed Maggie Brown, who had seen enough Protektors die for one day, but as the wagonette moved out of sight she saw him scramble to his feet. Thank the Lord.

  Then: 'Maggie.' Behind her the Queen was screaming as the wolf moved towards her, teeth bared.

  'Catch,' called Maggie, and she tossed a sword to the monarch, who caught it, span out of reach of the wolf's scything claws, and with her back to the beast struck back and upwards, spearing it through the belly so that the blade exited through the shoulder.

  The wolf screamed.

  In the Clarence up ahead the first wolf had been travelling with his head hanging out of the window, seemingly enjoying the sensation of the wind in its face. But at the sound of the scream it twisted around to stare back at the wagonette and what it saw made it howl in frustration.

  Back on the wagonette the archer sank to its knees, and it howled a second time, a howl that rent the sky but that was cut short as Victoria took the broadsword in two hands and sliced off its head.

  'Bitch,' screamed the driver, and it dropped the reins, twisting in its seat about to attack, when Maggie Brown opened its throat.

  'That, my son,' she said, as it grasped its throat and gurgled, pitching forward off the carriage and into the highway, 'is no way to speak to the sovereign.'

  For an instant the driverless carriage slowed. Then Maggie was in the driving seat, geeing up the horses and they were once again in pursuit, Victoria by her side.

  'I prefer these odds, don't you, Your Majesty?' shouted Maggie Brown over the noise of the carriage wheels. 'Two against two. Plus, we have an advantage.'

  'What's that, Maggie?' asked the Queen.

  'We won't need to stop to do a wee up a lamp post.'

  The Queen's laugh was dry and humourless, her focus on one thing only: getting Albert back.

  'What are they?' she asked, 'these things?'

  'This lot of hairy bastards go by the name Arcadians. Shape-changing deviants with a limited imagination, as they are only able to become wolves. Ever wondered where the werewolf myth came from, Your Majesty?'

  Victoria shook her head no.

  'Well if you had then you'd know. There are plenty of them about as it happens. Lots of them remained on earth plane rather than go home after the fall, being partial to the meat here.'

  'Humans?'

  'No, livestock. Many is the fox that has been blamed for an Arcadian attack. They only kill humans if a human gets in their way or, as is the case here, if they're employed to do so.'

  Now the two carriages thundered along a straight stretch of highway, trees lining either side. Victoria saw the driver of the Clarence checking behind itself, then urging on his horses, wielding the buggy whip viciously.

  'Can you catch the Clarence, Maggie?' asked Victoria, 'allow me to board it?'

  Maggie Brown shook her head no. 'You've seen enough action for one day, Your Majesty. Now I have you safe you needn't think I'm letting you out of my sight. You can drive. I'll board.'

  'Sorry, Maggie,' said the Queen, 'I nev
er learned to drive. It's not a skill considered essential for a monarch. I'm going.'

  'You are joking,' said Maggie. 'I mean, please, ma'am, put my mind at rest as to your intentions. Making the leap from one carriage to another is danger enough, without having to battle two of the creatures when once you've done it. You'll be killed for sure.'

  Victoria shrugged. 'I'm not losing him, Maggie. Do you understand that?'

  'Aye,' sighed Maggie Brown. 'Aye, I do.'

  'Good. Now, do you have a small, sharp knife about your person?'

  Maggie produced one that the Queen used to slice off the bottom of her skirts, leaving a ragged hem around the knees.

  Maggie looked at the Queen, who grinned.

  'Bloody thing was slowing me down,' she said.

  They hurtled on. The wagonette, being so much more lightweight, was gaining, just a matter of yards between them now, and when the driver of the Clarence looked back its eyes widened in panic.

  'Yar,' it screamed. 'Yar.' The buggy whip a blur in the air.

  'Leave those horses alone,' screamed Maggie Brown, 'or I swear you'll be sorry.'

  But if the driver heard he paid no attention; indeed, the first wolf had now put its head from the open window and was screaming at it to go faster, it, too having noted the proximity of the carriage behind.

  They raced on, now reaching the great banks that surrounded the castle, and Maggie directed them onto the slope, coming up behind the Clarence.

  'Bring me to its side, Maggie,' called the Queen, crabbing behind Maggie and bracing herself, ready to make the leap from the wagonette. Maggie shook her head in disbelief, for she knew two things, and the first was that she had vowed to protect the Queen from danger, not place her in even more peril, and that Lord Melbourne would most undoubtedly have kittens if he could see them now; and the second thing she knew was that the Queen was not to be dissuaded.

  Now the wagonette was on the bank, above the Clarence, the two carriages almost side by side. The driver looked to its right and saw the Queen just feet away, ready to jump, and it howled in frustration, the buggy whip raised to administer another crack.

  Victoria jumped.

  She landed on the plate beside the driver, one hand snatching the buggy whip from him, swinging the broadsword with the other, catching the wolf on the side as it twisted to avoid the blow then rolled back on to the roof of the carriage. Where it crouched on all fours, about to pounce.

  Maggie saw the muscles of its hind legs bunch. Saw the snout pulled back, brown teeth, red gums like flayed meat.

  The Queen still off-balance on the driver's plate, sword down, a sitting duck.

  The wolf sprang.

  Just as Maggie rammed the Clarence with the wagonette, and the Clarence tipped on the slope, crashed to the ground and with a terrible pained cry from the horses, rolled on to its back. The wagonette barrelled on, Maggie pulling hard on the reins, saying, 'Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh Christ, oh God, oh Christ,' grabbing her broadsword, jumping down from the wagonette and sprinting back to the crashed Clarence, which lay capsized on the highway, its wheels still spinning, the two carriage horses tangled and thrashing at their restraints.

  As she came upon it she saw the driver trapped beneath the roof, either dead or unconscious; Victoria, meanwhile, her face scraped but otherwise unhurt-oh thank the heavens- was at the door of the carriage, screaming for her husband, yanking at the door, her broadsword on the ground beside her.

  'Your Majesty,' said Maggie Brown breathlessly, arriving at the scene.

  'Help me, Maggie, I can't open it,' said the Queen, still heaving desperately at the door and Maggie bent to lend her strength to the enterprise.

  Just then there came a sound from the other side of the upturned carriage. A noise made by the far door opening then coming off its hinges and clunking to the ground. As one, Victoria and Maggie collected their swords and darted to the back of the wagonette in time to see the first wolf straightening, with Albert, still unconscious, held in front of it like a shield, one paw at Albert's throat, pressed hard.

  'Stop,' it said, 'or I'll open his throat.' The fur on its leg was matted black with blood and as it edged backwards it limped a little.

  Victoria stopped dead, face ashen.

  Maggie sauntered over to stand by the side of the Queen.

  'He won't do it, Your Majesty,' said Maggie. 'If he wanted to kill the prince he would have done it by now. They want Albert alive. We can take him. He won't harm your husband.'

  The wolf smiled. 'Come on, then,' it said, 'take me, what are you waiting for?' It pretended to think. 'Oh? Is it because if you attack me you know that my last act on this plane will be to kill the Prince? Could that be it, I wonder?'

  'You won't,' said Maggie.

  'What would I have to lose, pray tell? Mrs Brown, your reputation precedes you. I'm hurt and weary from the chase. You would best me in battle.'

  'I could let you live.'

  The wolf snorted. 'I'm a demon. You've a duty to exterminate me, and that is what you will do.'

  'I could make an exception in your case,' offered Maggie.

  'And see to it that I live out my life in the depths of the Tower? No, I don't think so, Protektor. I would rather die here, with dignity and with the blood of the Prince on my talons.'

  'What if we let you go?' said Victoria, 'here and now. Unhand the Prince and you may disappear into the night. You have my word on it.'

  'As a marked Arcadian,' said the wolf, 'covered in disgrace, a price on my head for my failure? No, Your Majesty, I'm sorry. No, my answer still stands, I opt for attack.'

  Maggie tensed, thinking: the wolf won't kill the Prince. He would take his chances in battle with Maggie and Victoria.

  But then...

  Maybe not.

  'Your Majesty?' said Maggie Brown. 'I think he's bluffing. I think I can take him.'

  'Uh, uh,' said mister wolf and he dug his claws into Albert's neck. In response, Albert's eyelids fluttered. Victoria let out a gasp.

  'No,' she said, and her sword dropped.

  'That's the spirit,' said the wolf. He grinned at Maggie, wolfishly.

  Maggie's eyes narrowed. Could she have taken him? Really? Maybe so; maybe not.

  So they watched, helplessly, as the wolf dragged Albert back to the wagonette bundled him in and climbed on to the driver's plate.

  'I'll leave you to clear up the mess,' it said, and with a shake of the reins, was pelting away from them.

  Victoria dropped to her knees, sobbing. Maggie bent down to her, clasping her by the shoulders. For some moments they remained that way.

  'I want him back, Maggie,' said Victoria.

  'Don't lose heart, Your Majesty,' replied Maggie. 'Whoever has him doesn't want to kill him, that much is clear. A ransom demand is my guess. Hicks and Vasquez and me. We'll find him. We three are the best there is.'

  'Four,' said the Queen.

  'Ma'am?'

  'You've just gained a new member,' said Victoria. She stood, brushing herself down.

  'Ah, Your Majesty,' said Maggie, 'I don't think--'

  'You asked me, remember, at the cottage?'

  'Aye, but not seriously...'

  'I'm going after Albert, Maggie. I'd rather do it with you than on my own. You want to protect me-then teach me.'

  'I'd need a year to train you as a Protektor.'

  'You have a day,' she said. 'Oh, and Maggie?'

  'Yes, Your Majesty?'

  'I'm going to need weapons. Very, very sharp weapons.'

  Part Three

  'I, Demon Hunter'

  XXVI

  The General Cemetery, Kensal Green

  It was dusk and an urchin sat on a low wall beside the imposing monument at the gates of the General Cemetery, swinging his feet and disturbing the mist that swirled about his tattered trouser legs and bare feet.

  'Look sharp, Perkins,' murmured Quimby, sotto voce, as they approached the entranceway, the monolithic arch of Portland Stone that loomed ov
er them in the fading light. 'He'll be wanting to extort money from us, the pint-sized blackguard.'

  He recalled the last time he'd seen one of these little scruffs. This was in Pembridge Villas in Notting Hill. Right outside his home. 'Penny to look after your carriage, mister?' the child had said impertinently.

  'A penny to look after my carriage?' Quimby had repeated, quite mystified. 'Why on earth would I give you any money to look after my carriage?' He really could not see what the deuce was to be gained from this exchange-the very definition of fruitless, or so it seemed-and so he added, 'Now be off with you...or I shall set my manservant on you and believe you me, if I do, it'll be the rock you perish on.'

  The lad seemed to slink away. But the next day Quimby had learned exactly what he meant by looking after the carriage, which now bore a long scratch along its side.

  Which was why, now, Quimby regarded the young boy with such suspicion. 'It's the latest thing among the young.'

  But he was wrong. The lad, his clothes filthy, his cheeks black with soot, simply watched them pass through the spiked gates, under the arch and into the huge cemetery. There they found themselves on a wide path that seemed to bisect the graveyard, dotted as it was with stones and mausoleums. For some moments they walked in silence, comfortable in each other's company, just the shuffling, dragging sound of Perkins' prosthetic leg.

  They had been able to arrest the leg's decomposition by means of adding to it drops of their potion and this was-from whatever angle you chose to regard the matter-a significant breakthrough for Quimby, Perkins and, indeed, the sum of man's medical knowledge (the discoveries he had made in service of his libido! marvelled Quimby on occasion). However, they had not yet achieved an effective means of securing Sugar's leg to Perkins' thigh, which meant the limb had a habit of dropping off at inopportune moments, such as the last occasion on which they had tried to turn the tables on McKenzie. On top of which there had been other occurrences, too; one recently where Perkins had been serving drinks to Quimby and a female guest of low birth and his leg had fallen off. Of course this had deposited poor Perkins rather rudely to the floor, eliciting a laugh from Quimby's guest. Furious at having his manservant ridiculed in this way, he had forcibly ejected her; then, as a special treat, allowed Perkins to take her into the basement to eat the impudent woman alive. That would be the last time she mocked the afflicted.