The Reaper's Kiss

by Robert Southworth

  “Alpha sends supplies,” he called out.

  “It’s needed on nights like these.” The man waved him through.

  As the wagon lurched forward, he tried to estimate how many defenders stood between William and his freedom. There was about a dozen men that were merely paid thugs. Some had been present when the nuns were violently removed from the castle. Faraday also knew that another half a dozen such men were watching the various roads. Over the past few weeks, at least eight hooded figures had arrived on Alpha’s orders. Faraday thought that this figure could have grown in his absence. Faraday pulled on the reins and the muscular beast that pulled the wagon came to a halt.

  “Get me, two men.” He pulled a bottle from beneath the wagon’s seat and threw it to the man. “I have a few bottles of rum and some kegs of wine. Anything to help take our mind from this bloody place.”

  “Get yourself inside, and I will get some men, more suited to the task.”

  “Gratitude for the offer, but Alpha will be arriving soon, and I need to ensure I have the supplies for the celebratory meal. He is not someone I want to disappoint.”

  The man nodded that he understood.

  “I will send you the men but be quick I doubt this bottle will last long.”

  “Plenty more where that came from,” Faraday winked as he spoke.

  Faraday did not wait for the men to arrive before he started to unload the wagon. If his plan was to work, then he needed time to hide some of the cargo. Thankfully, the two men who had been selected to aid him, had obviously not seen the urgency and did not arrive for nearly an hour. They mumbled an apology on their arrival. Faraday, however, was inwardly delighted and struggled to give them a disapproving stare.

  “Fortunately, it is only the food remaining. Take it to the kitchen.” He grasped another bottle and placed it on the seat of the wagon. “When you have finished grab some grain and water for the horse, and then the bottle is yours.” They nodded their acceptance of the task. Both sets of eyes were hungrily taking in the sight of the rum. Faraday gave his thanks and quickly moved away.

  He turned the key to William’s room. The prisoner was on the bed seemingly asleep.

  “You have an instantly recognisable walk, Faraday,” William announced without opening his eyes.

  “Kicked by a horse when I was a boy. Broke my right leg in two places. It never seemed to want to keep up with the left after that.”

  “Did you have a productive trip to London?” He opened his eyes and sat up.

  Faraday walked over and sat on the chair.

  “Interesting to say the least.”

  “In what way?”

  “Alpha is killing his own men. I don’t think he is finished either.”

  “For what reason?”

  “William, I do not know the man, and he certainly does not take me into his confidence. Besides, we have more pressing matters at hand. I have the beginnings of a plan to get you out of here.”

  “Our chances?”

  “Slim but I can’t see the odds getting any better with time. We have about twenty men to avoid within the castle. After that, there are only the men watching the roads.”

  “Castle?” William asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “You said castle.”

  “Yes, you are being held at Hartshill Castle.” Faraday’s reply made William laugh. “What is so funny?”

  “The bastard picks a property no more than ten miles from Cloveney. He has bigger balls than a bull elephant.” Suddenly, William’s smile faded. “I know this area. I visited this place as a child. What happened to the nuns?” Faraday looked at his feet and could not bring himself to meet William’s eye. “No! How many?”

  “All were slaughtered,” Faraday replied. Now that he had spoken the horror out loud, he knew that he could never return to his former life. The room fell silent.

  It was at least ten minutes before William spoke.

  “You do know the Ripper will kill you for aiding me to escape?”

  “My soul is damned, William. No God could look kindly on the things I have done. In truth, I think the Ripper plans to kill me anyway. I deserve no better than his other victims. I believed that he held the woman I loved and was willing to make my mistakes public. I realise now I was played, manipulated to do his bidding. The man is both intelligent and evil. Which is why I want you out of here before he comes.”

  “The Ripper is coming here?”

  “If Alpha is the Ripper, then yes he is.”

  “Then, for the time being, I must stay,” William replied.

  “Are you insane?”

  “If the Ripper comes, he will reveal himself to me?”

  “Why should he? He hasn’t revealed himself to anyone.”

  “He will, to me. It’s the game he is playing. A game that only I am invited to play.”

  “But my plans?” Faraday shook his head in disbelief.

  “Put them in place. When I know his identity, then we shall attempt to leave.”

  Chapter 20

  Days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. William was not the only man growing frustrated with the passing of time. Sir Simeon Harkness pulled the hunting rifle up to his shoulder and looked down the sights. The prey in the distance turned to a blur as his mind wandered back to when he taught a young boy to shoot.

  The boy was angry; since his mother’s death, he had been a raging ball of fire and fury. The rifle was too large for his stature. He refused to give in, despite the recoil of the weapon hurting his shoulder. The whole day had been spent trying to hit the centre of a target. Time and time again the firearm was loaded, fired and re-loaded. Then just for a moment the rage vanished as the centre of the target exploded. The boy whooped with joy and then embraced his father. The show of tenderness was fleeting as the boy remembered his hatred. Simeon’s mind returned to reality as the prey in the distance dove for cover.

  “Sir Simeon,” a voice sounded to his rear.

  Simeon quickly wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “What is it, Tomkins?”

  “It is time to leave. Are you sure you want to do this, sir?” Tomkins looked a little sheepish questioning Simeon’s plans.

  Simeon turned and looked at Tomkins. He could not help but smile; it seemed that the man had somehow caught the spirit of Obadiah. His old friend had no love for social etiquette.

  “I am stepping into my son’s sizeable boots until he returns. Men risk their lives on my orders. Tomkins. I will do well to lead from the front as he would do. I would appreciate your close attention to Emily. Is Miss Bull settling in? Since I arranged for her to join the household, I have had little opportunity to converse with her.”

  “Erm… yes, Sir,” Tomkins replied unconvincingly.

  “You do not seem sure of your answer.”

  “It’s just that she is rather stern.”

  “With Emily?”

  “No, she is most attentive with the young lady. With…with me Sir Simeon. She is not an easy woman.”

  Simeon laughed.

  “I am sure that for Emily’s good you can face the peril posed by Miss Bull?”

  “Of course,” Tomkins replied.

  “Good, man.” Simeon slapped Tomkins on the shoulder, and both he and Tomkins walked back to Cloveney. “I know you can use a weapon such as this,” he tapped the barrel of his hunting rifle, “but can you use a pistol.”

  “Pardon the expression Sir, but I could shoot the balls of a boar at twenty feet.”

  Simeon raised an eyebrow impressed by the bravado shown by Tomkins. “Good, from now on I want you to carry a pistol at all times. On my desk in the study, you will see a wooden box. Inside, you will find two Enfield pistols and ammunition. If you would be so kind as to fetch one for me, the other one is for you. I have tested both weapons. They fire straight and true. If you are as good as you say you are, then the household is in good hands.”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Good, keep Emily safe. At th
e moment, she is all that I have in the world…until William returns.”

  ***

  Sir Simeon Harkness had decided the mission would be undertaken on horseback. The target had been a bit of surprise, situated as it was, not in London, but the outskirts of Oxford. However, the more Simeon thought about it, the more it made sense. The property was a small brewery, which had experienced a rapid growth of sales in London. For a small company to achieve such prominence in the alehouses of London was remarkable. Simeon realised that the operation provided the Ripper and his followers with income and the opportunity to move goods, and people, around the city with ease. Barrels could carry a whole number of products other than ale. The brewery, coupled with the smuggling operation down on the south coast, offered unlimited sales opportunities to plenty of willing customers. Simeon could not help thinking that the cult of Cronos behaved more like a London street gang than political activists. However, with followers that were devout in their allegiance, they posed a far greater threat than the ordinary criminal class.

  The men were ready. Simeon was surprised to see Gossup take to the saddle.

  “There is no need for you, Goss. We have enough men for the task.” Simeon manoeuvred his horse in alongside that of Gossup’s.

  “I’m healed enough. Besides, that bloody Bull woman won’t leave me alone.”

  “Orders from Emily I expect,” Simeon replied.

  “She’s worse than my first sergeant. Years ago, they would have burnt the old cow at the stake.”

  “It’s true. She wouldn’t even let me smoke my pipe inside,” Abberline added.

  Simeon held up his hand in mock surrender.

  “Very well gentlemen. We shall retreat from the dangerous Miss Bull and do battle with killers and thieves instead. Let us hope they are less ferocious.” Simeon clicked his heels, and his mount moved forward. He hoped that this mission would reveal some clue to the whereabouts of his son.

  ***

  To ensure that their approach remained unobserved, Simeon instructed the riders to use the main routes until they were ten miles from their target. Once within that distance, they cut across the countryside. The going was not easy; the ground was saturated. The mounts slipped on the treacherous surface, an act that was met with curses from each of the riders. Simeon felt the cold of the day seep into his bones, his soaked clothing sticking to every inch of his body. He considered making camp for the night, but that would mean missing the rendezvous time with the rest of the men. As he looked towards the horizon, he could see a plume of smoke. Then a figure emerged from the trees and waved.

  “That’s Tallow,” Simeon announced. Although, it was more a statement of relief than to inform his fellow riders.

  Gossup sniffed the air. “I’ll wager that’s rabbit.”

  The riders urged their horses on. Simeon called out a welcome as the horsemen drew closer to Tallow, who in return waved them forward. They moved through the trees until a small clearing came into view. A small shelter had been built at one end, and just a few paces in front of that, lay the fire. Simeon could not help licking his lips as he observed the carcasses of two rabbit’s roasting on the spit.

  The group dismounted and immediately crossed to the small shelter. Tallow gave each a tin mug and filled it with tea. Simeon felt the warmth from both fire and mug. Simple things, but both brought him great pleasure.

  “Where are the other men?” Simeon asked as he removed his boots.

  “Bakari, Benjamin, and Josh are watching the brewery. Naismith has gone to a nearby village. He hoped to gain some information from the locals about the brewery. I also think that he went to find something a little more refined to drink than my tea.” Tallow took a swig from his mug. “Not that I can blame him.”

  “Your tea warms chilled bones, but perhaps,” Simeon pulled a flask from his jacket, “a drop of something more potent would be beneficial to our souls.” Each of the men held their mugs forward and Simeon obliged them. “One flask is not going to be sufficient on a day like this - let’s hope that Naismith is successful on his hunt.”

  “We will know soon enough,” Tallow replied nodding over Simeon’s shoulder.

  As Naismith approached, the heavens darkened and the rain intensified. Simeon thought for a moment, then motioned for Tallow to come closer.

  “Bring the men in. They will see nothing in this weather and tomorrow they may be required to fight. I would have them fed, and rested.”

  “I will see to it,” Tallow said, and rose immediately.

  Tallow’s horse pulled away from the camp, as Naismith precariously dismounted. He had somehow managed to ride with what seemed to be a large iron pot. “Abberline, a hand please,” Naismith pleaded. He crossed toward the inspector and deposited the pot into his hands, then returned to his horse. He pulled a large hessian sack down from his mount.

  “What have you been scavenging,” Abberline growled.

  “In the pot is a kind of stew. In truth, I cannot vouch for the ingredients but I can for the taste.”

  “And the bread?” Simeon asked.

  “Bread for the stew and…” Naismith bent down and opened the sack, “and a little something to wash it down.” He held aloft two bottles of gin. “Again, I cannot commit to its quality.”

  “We could have done with you in the ranks,” Gossup announced looking impressed.

  “A soldier who cannot shoot. I think not,” Naismith replied.

  “A soldier that keeps the men who can shoot fed. You would have been treated like bloody royalty,” Gossup replied, as he took a bottle.

  “Seems you missed your calling, Naismith,” Simeon suggested with a smile.

  Within the hour, Tallow returned with the men from the brewery. The pot of stew was warmed over the fire. Naismith pulled a number of wooden dishes from the sack and all consumed a hearty meal. The flesh was torn from the rabbit carcasses, and men laughed as the gin took effect. The shelter offered sanctuary from the persistent rain and the fire slowly dried their clothes.

  Simeon wondered if this was why his son loved soldiering. The possibility of danger and death offset by being part of a group. He thought this must be what Shakespeare meant by the term band of brothers. He lay down on the ground and listened as the chatter in the camp, died away.

  Chapter 21

  The rain had stopped during the night. Simeon had been the first to arise, getting up to breathe life back into the dying embers. He put the large iron pot on the fire to warm the remains of the stew.

  “William always rose early when in the ranks,” a hoarse voice sounded to his rear.

  “Was he a good soldier?” Simeon asked.

  Gossup scratched his arse with a twig. The action seemed to be helping him contemplate his answer.

  “Depends by what you mean by ‘good soldier’. He was the devil himself in battle. A crazed killing bastard, if there ever was one. Too bad tempered to roll over and die. He watched out for the recruits, without being a mam’s teat. Orders - orders are another thing. Those above him tended to dislike him that’s for sure. More than one tried to get him killed on purpose. I think he rather enjoyed being a pain in the arse.”

  “Now that I can believe,” Simeon responded.

  “I’m no judge of what makes a good soldier. But William is a soldier’s - soldier. Good in a fight - won’t get you killed unless he has to. Plus, he can drink like a bloody fish.” Gossup paused as the twig snapped from excessive scratching. “And even old crooks like me are offered friendship. Good soldier or not, he is a bloody good man.”

  “That is good to hear. I’m afraid that despite being his father, I don’t know him as well as I should.”

  “My old Ma used to say, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’. Of course she was talking about me. My father was an old bastard, a waster if there ever was one.”

  “I think your mother would be proud, especially, if she saw how you care for young Alfie.”

  “She died when I was fighting in the Afg
han, but she may look down and give a wink. She was never one to waste words.”

  “I suppose it is more important to make those that still live, proud.” He looked to the skies. “The day promises to be fine.” Simeon offered a bowl of stew to Gossup as the other men began to rise.

  ***

  Within the hour Simeon and his men were observing the brewery. Simeon thought that it looked as a brewery should look. Workers moved from building to building; barrels were loaded and unloaded; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No sentries were watching the roads. He wondered if a den of illegal activities should be unconcerned by who might come calling. He decided to test if the brewery was as innocent as it seemed.

  “We go in nice and easy. No show of force.” He announced to the men. “Josh, find a spot where you can watch the main courtyard. If things get sticky, let Betsy do the talking.”

  “Will do,” Josh replied.

  The riders moved forward. Before they got too close, Josh separated from the main group, to go in hunt of a good vantage point. It would take time for him to get into position, and so, Simeon slowed the pace. The ground suddenly grew firmer as they crossed from field to track.

  Before long the sound of the horses in the courtyard heralded their arrival to the workers. Some of them hurried away, but others eyed the riders with obvious distrust.

  “I think this is where you come in, Abberline,” Simeon suggested.

  Simeon and the others dismounted. Abberline stepped to the front, puffed out his chest and eyed the nearest worker.

  “I am Inspector Abberline of Scotland Yard. Who is in charge here?”

  “I know who you are,” a voice said from one of the buildings. A figure emerged onto the stairwell that ran up the side of one of the buildings. He moved slowly; each step was taken with deliberate arrogance.