‘Well its only an old case, it doesn’t matter if you damage it,’ Adele replied.
‘No wait … don’t do that,’ interrupted Jim, ‘let me have a look, I have a way with locks.’
I’ll bet you do, thought Cobb.
Jim took a silver, pen shaped object out of his pocket and loosened the screw cap at one end. He shook it and several lengths of thin metal slid out. Jim examined the lock and then slid all the metal rods back into the pen except one, and then he tightened the screw cap again so that one was held rigid. He slid the metal rod into the lock and began working it back and forth.
Cobb watched, fascinated. He knew a professional when he saw one. ‘Do you usually carry a lock pick around with you?’ he asked, curiously.
‘Oh, I’m always losing my front door key,’ replied Jim, ‘so I carry this just in case. There you go!’ With a flick of his wrist the lock popped open and the lid of the case swung back. He bent forward to look at the lock. ‘I’m so sorry; I appear to have damaged the lock. I’ll pay for that of course.’
Cobb and Adele both leant forward and peered at the lock. Around the keyhole there was a neat, semicircular scratch.
‘I seem to have scuffed up a burr on my pick, must get that ground down. I do apologise,’ re-iterated Jim.
‘Don’t give it another thought,’ said Adele. ‘It’s an old suitcase, it would probably only get thrown away or stuck in the attic, so don’t worry about it.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Jim.
‘Yes, don’t worry about it and thanks for getting it open for me. So, what were you two talking about when I interrupted?’
‘Oh, just catching up,’ said Cobb.
‘I was going to invite you both out for a night on the town,’ said Jim.
‘What, at the Golden Gryphon?’ asked Cobb.
‘Well no, somewhere more salubrious than that!’ laughed Jim.
‘Why, what’s wrong with the Golden Gryphon?’ asked Adele.
Cobb and Jim looked at each other, ‘It’s where Jim spends most of his time and I don’t mean to be rude to the place but it’s a little down market, shall we say. It’s in the heart of the East End and no place for a lady. No offence Jim.’
‘None taken. Cobb’s right though, it is no place for a lady.’
‘It sounds fascinating though, I’ve always wanted to visit a place like that, can we go there?’ asked Adele, excitedly.
‘Well, I don’t know … it’s a bit rough. You’d be out of your depth,’ said Cobb.
‘I can look after myself,’ she said, sounding somewhat miffed. ‘I’ve been around a bit you know.’
‘Oh leave it out,’ said Cobb with a smile. ‘You’re from Swanwick, I’ve been to your house, remember? In your neighbourhood you could have a “Reign of Terror” with a balloon on a stick!’
‘Oh, go on Cobb,’ Jim urged. ‘You heard Adele; she’s always wanted to visit a place like the Golden Gryphon. You’ll be all right, I’ll have a carriage take you there and back and you’ll be under my protection all night. No one will bother you if they know you are my guest. What about it?’
‘Please Cobb; I’ll have two strong men to protect me. What could possibly happen?’ begged Adele.
Famous last words thought Cobb but he knew when he was beaten. ‘Okay, have a cab pick us up tomorrow, eight o’ clock.’
***
If there’s something strange,
In your neighbourhood,
Who ya gonna call? … Witchfinder!
The Witchfinder, Roderick Grindle, sat in his office, his outstretched legs resting on the desk. His eyes glistened as he read the overly dramatic accounts of the werewolf attacks.
He eagerly devoured the grisly description of the attack on the latest victim, a woman, accompanied by a gruesome drawing of an artist’s impression of the crime, showing a huge, furry monster with the head of a dog, standing on its hind legs, holding in its hands the limp body of its helpless victim as her life blood drained away. The picture was entitled “The Death of Innocence”. (Not strictly accurate as the victim had been an East End prostitute, but the truth should never be allowed to get in the way of a good headline, should it?)
The Witchfinder pored over every detail, his excitement rising. Putting down the paper, he crossed over to the wall where a large-scale map of Londum was pinned to the notice board. Carefully he located the exact street where the crime had taken place and stuck a coloured pin in the site. Standing back, he surveyed the map and the other pins, all bunched together in one spot of the map, the East End of Londum, where all the attacks had taken place.
That was where he must go, he thought. Down these mean streets a Witchfinder must walk, he told himself. He looked up anxiously at the full-length portrait of the first Witchfinder, Thaddeus Flax. I won’t let you down, he thought, the werewolf is mine!
He went back to his desk and re-read the story in the paper. He was a young man in his early twenties, not as mature and imposing as he believed himself to be as the Witchfinder. What he didn’t know was that he was exactly mature and imposing enough for the role of Witchfinder, as it was considered in this present age. What was once a powerful and important post had, over the years, devolved into a virtually meaningless role. Only tradition and ancient statutes kept it going until today.
Instead of tracking down witches and burning them, today’s Witchfinder issued them licenses to practice Magick, from the Bureau Of Occult Practitioners (B. O. O. P. for short).
This could be it, he thought, a chance to show them that the Witchfinder was truly a force to be reckoned with, in the occult world. All he had to do was capture the werewolf and he could see the headlines now ... “Witchfinder saves Londum!” and “A grateful city turns out to praise the Witchfinder as he is honoured by the king”. Maybe even his hero would be impressed!
The Witchfinder idolised the world famous vampire hunter … Van Helsing! He modelled himself on Van Helsing even going so far as to dress like him when on official business. With the long leather coat and the hat with the floppy brim, Van Helsing’s silhouette was instantly recognised and feared throughout Europe by the Undead. The Witchfinder hoped that killing the werewolf would put him in the same league as the vampire hunter, maybe even make him an equal!
But first he had to kill the blasted thing and for that you needed silver. He had “borrowed” his mum’s best silver cutlery (she only ever brought it out when they had visitors, anyway. He would buy her a new set with the rewards he would be given for killing the werewolf). Then he had melted the cutlery down using a Bunsen burner from his old chemistry set. Pouring it into moulds, he had carefully manufactured silver bullets. Finally, he had borrowed his dad’s old service revolver to shoot the bullets.
‘Deirdre,’ he called to the outer office, ‘can you come in here please?’
Moments later his assistant Deirdre came into the office. As she came through the door she whipped off her thick-lensed glasses. She was very self-conscious about wearing her glasses, especially in front of Roderick, but she was blind as a bat without them. She barely managed to stop herself in time before she walked into his desk.
‘You called me, Witchfinder?’
‘Yes … we’re going out tonight!’
‘Oh Roderick, finally,’ she gushed. ‘Thank you, I’m so flattered. I thought you’d never ask. I know a nice little place where the food is-’
‘We’re going out tonight to catch a werewolf,’ he continued, totally oblivious to what she’d just revealed. ‘We’re going to catch it and kill it!’
‘Look at that,’ he said, holding out the paper.
She took it, holding it upside down as well as back to front. ‘Ah yes, I see,’ she lied.
‘That article tells us everything we need to know,’ said the Witchfinder.
‘It does?’ asked Deirdre.
‘Well, read it for yourself, what does it say?’
‘Erm …another victim slain by werewolf ... erm, believed to be hairy ... erm, n
ot from round here, says man,’ guessed Deirdre, unable to read a word but unwilling to put on her glasses in front of the Witchfinder.
‘What?’ said the Witchfinder. ‘No, it says that all the attacks took place in the East End. That is where we will be tonight ... waiting for it. Tonight or soon, the werewolf will meet its fate at the hands of the Witchfinder!’ he ended dramatically.
‘Oh Roderick,’ gasped Deirdre adoringly.
‘Deirdre, … this will make us famous, so we shall need to look our best. This calls for my leather coat ...’
‘The one with stars on it?’
‘Yes and bring me the hat … the one with the floppy brim!’
‘Oh yes, Witchfinder!’
***
Cobb and Adele’s carriage pulled to a halt outside the Golden Gryphon, in the heart of Whitechapel. Adele had been fascinated all through their journey as she had never been to the East End before. She had made Cobb point out all the streetwalkers and the seedier streets and pubs as if she was on a tourist trip and Cobb was the guide. There was an icy wind blowing up the River Isis and throughout Londum, it had blown all the smoke and fog away and it left a clear night. Adele was able to see all the sights as Cobb pointed them out.
As he helped her down from the carriage he said to her, ‘Are you sure you want to go in there? The Golden Gryphon is one of the dodgiest pubs in Londum, you know.’
‘Yes of course I want to. I’ve never been to one of these places before. I’m just a schoolteacher from Swanwick. I’ve only read about places like this and I’ve always wanted to see one for myself. It’ll be all right, I’ve got you and Jim to look after me, haven’t I?’
Cobb paid off the cab driver and led the way in to the Golden Gryphon. Only the Gods knew why Jim Darby liked to hang around in this place, thought Cobb. It was full of all kinds of low life, the dregs of the streets. Drunkards, thieves, gin drinkers, prostitutes, opium takers and pickpockets. If you were going to give Londum an enema, this is where you would stick the nozzle.
Yet this was where Jim chose to spend most of his time, calling these street people his brothers and sisters. Oh well, it took all sorts, Cobb supposed.
‘Stay close to me and hold onto your handbag,’ he cautioned Adele as they entered the bar. It was certainly a lively, welcoming place, brightly lit with a fiddle and flute band playing in the corner. The place was full of laughter and music and people talking.
Leaning on the bar in front of them was a loud individual surrounded by a small group of admirers. Cobb knew the type, one of the local bullies, all mouth and trousers. He wore a checked pattern, three-piece suit over a grubby, white shirt and a yellow tie. Around his waist was a thick leather belt with a large, shiny belt buckle. On top of his head was a bowler hat, one size too small. The man carried a large walking stick with a bulbous head. He probably imagined that his outfit and accoutrements were the height of fashion and made him cock o’ the walk.
His sycophants crowded around him, hanging on his every word. “Big Mick” Cobb heard one of them call him. He’d seen his type before, a big fish in a small pond, he thought.
Cobb was looking around the room for Jim Darby when he heard Big Mick address Adele. ‘Well now me darlin’, you sure are a pretty thing. And how would you like to spend the evening with a real man?’
‘And how would you like to wake up with a crowd of people staring down at you?’ replied Cobb.
Big Mick’s friends looked at Cobb with disdain but as he stepped forward they melted back, leaving Cobb and Big Mick staring at each other.
‘It’s okay Cobb,’ said Adele, ‘leave it to me.’
‘No, Adele …’
‘Cobb … please?’
Cobb looked down at her ready to argue but when he saw the glint in her eyes he shrugged assent.
Adele stepped over to Big Mick. ‘And what’s a fine fellow like you got to offer a girl like me, eh? Look at you, all done up in your fine suit, oh and look at that flashy belt buckle you have.’ As she spoke she ran her fingers over the belt buckle. ‘I expect you’re a big man in these parts.’
‘Big man, yeah that’s me,’ he said with a leer.
‘Well thanks for the offer but I’ll stay with my man for now.’ She stepped back beside Cobb and took his arm.
Big Mick was just about to answer her when he noticed something was wrong. His belt buckle seemed to be getting hot, very hot indeed.
Cobb said, ‘Does that answer your question?’
Big Mick opened his mouth to answer but noticed that the heat from his buckle seemed to spreading. In those days there were no such things as zippers, and plastic hadn’t been invented yet. So in his trousers a man only had buttons, metal buttons. The heat from the buckle was spreading to his fly buttons, one at a time.
He shifted uncomfortably and tried to answer again when Jim Darby burst through the small crowd. ‘All right, what’s going on here? Is that you McGarry?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing happening Mr. Darby, nothing,’ said Big Mick McGarry.
‘Are you causing trouble Big Mick?’
‘No I wasn’t, honest.’ Beads of sweat were starting to break out on his forehead.
‘These are friends of mine I’ll have you know.’
‘Righto Mr. Darby, sorry, I was just saying hello to the lady.’ Big Mick’s eyes were beginning to cross as a wisp of smoke drifted up from his fly. He made to leave but Jim grabbed him by the shoulder.
‘If I catch you causing trouble in here again you’ll have to answer to me, got it?’
‘Any … thing … you … say … Mr. … Darby … any … th-’ Big Mick managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth before the front of his trousers suddenly burst into flames. With a scream he tore himself loose from Jim’s grip and ran off towards the toilet, knocking people over in his panic.
Adele lifted her fingers up to her mouth and blew on the tips, then she and Cobb doubled over in laughter.
‘What the hell just happened?’ asked Jim, mystified.
‘Oh I think that was just Adele proving that she is not so helpless as we might think she is,’ explained Cobb.
‘And remember that both of you, or next time I might pick on one of you to demonstrate my skills.’
‘I can’t apologise enough for that bother,’ said Jim.
‘Oh don’t worry about it, it was worth it just to see the look on his face when his trousers caught fire,’ said Adele then she and Cobb burst into laughter again.
‘Well, come along,’ urged Jim leading the way through the crowd. ‘I’ve got us a table over in the corner where it’s quieter. We can enjoy our meal in peace and Adele can see what goes on in a place like this without being disturbed.’
***
The werewolf loped along the rooftops of the East End. Most of them connected together and apart from where the streets dissected them, they were one big walkway, and you could travel for long distances without ever touching the ground. The beast had soon realised that this was its best way of getting around Londum. It was used to chasing its prey through woods and forests and it took some time to adjust to this new way of hunting. It could track its prey from above and then when the victim was alone and vulnerable, it could quickly scurry down the mass of fire escapes to ground level and attack. Once the victim was dead or incapacitated the werewolf could ascend to the heights again to feast in peace.
It spotted a few solitary individuals walking along the streets but after following them for some time they invariably found their way to better lit, better populated areas where there were too many others to risk attacking without them raising the alarm. So it had been forced to leave them and search for other, safer alternatives. To carry out its grisly task it required stealth and secrecy.
***
The cab pulled to a halt in the middle of the East End. The Witchfinder stepped out and helped Deirdre down. Roderick paid off the cabbie and watched him drive away.
‘Right, Deirdre,’ he said, ‘what we need to do is to hang
around where there is not too much traffic. A few pubs and eating-houses but not as deserted as the warehouse district. We need people to be around but not so many that it’s too lively for the werewolf.’
‘Okay Roderick, whatever you say. Should we just hang around on the streets or shall we go into one of the pubs?’
‘We’ll walk around the streets for a bit first, get a feel for the place, study the lie of the land. A hunter needs to know his prey’s territory, put himself in the mind of the animal, and become one with the beast!’ he said pompously.
‘Shouldn’t you check your gun?’ she asked him, nervously.
He took his father’s service revolver out of his overcoat pocket and broke open the chamber. Six, shiny, silver bullets nestled there, ready and waiting to spit out expensive death at the pull of a trigger. He spun the chamber to check the action and the freshly oiled mechanism spun smoothly. After applying the safety he replaced the gun in his pocket. He was ready to go into the history books tonight as the only man in Londum, possibly in the world, to single-handedly take down a werewolf. Well, him and Deirdre. ‘Come Deirdre, let us patrol the neighbourhood,’ he said and set off down the street.
Deirdre pulled her coat tightly around her and pushed her spectacles firmly onto her nose, vanity or not, this was not a night to wander around blind.
***
The werewolf spotted his prey down below, a single male, walking alone through the back streets. He walked quickly, eager to be out of these alleyways and back onto the main thoroughfares, where there was light and people around.
He had almost reached safety, when a long, hairy, muscular arm reached down and grabbed him by the neck. It lifted him up into the air, up to the level of the first floor fire escape from where the beast had reached down and seized him. The grip on his throat made it impossible for the man to shout but fortunately he had retained his grip on his walking stick and he thrashed it vigorously into his assailants face. Through more luck that skilful aiming he managed to make the werewolf release his grip and the man dropped to the ground below.
The Londum Omnibus Volume One (The Londum Series Book 4) Page 29