Tales of the Shadowmen 4: Lords of Terror

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  On Sunday night, Irina went with a satchel of money to the banks of the Seine. She was armed with an umbrella that concealed a sword. The docks were deserted, except for a person playing a harmonica. The musician was a blonde woman whose physique resembled Irina’s.

  “Ain’t you a swell, dearie,” complimented the blonde, speaking English with a Cockney accent. “What’s pinned to your chest? A pentagon?”

  “Are you ‘Parker?’ ”

  “Purity Parker. You must work for Mrs. Trevor. Nice umbrella. What’s on the handle? Looks like a horny horse.”

  “It’s a unicorn’s head.”

  “That ain’t no unicorn, luv. I’m wearing a unicorn. A Black Skirts unicorn. Ain’t it pretty?”

  Irina experienced an odd feeling looking at Parker’s uniform. Madame Fourneau had given her prefects similar dresses as gifts.

  “What are the Black Skirts?”

  “It’s the new name for Madame Koluchy’s Brotherhood. Why not call us the Sisterhood, eh? Maybe Koluchy don’t want us confused with them Catholic Huns. I’m a personable jerk. I handle files on them that work for the Black Coats.”

  “You’re a personnel clerk.”

  “Just what I said,” concurred Parker pointing to a brown manila folder lying on a crate. “That’s B. F.’s personable file. You can take a gander if you hand over the money.”

  “How did the Brotherhood hire you?” asked Irina.

  “My brother Larry got me this job. He’s Colonel Moran’s chum.”

  “Your brother is Parker the Garotter?”

  “My brother ain’t no rotter! He’s a strangler.”

  “My apologies. Why betray the Black Coats now?”

  “The bigwigs made the Personable Deportment part of Koluchy’s gang. The new boss wants to fire me. Bit of a fancy pants. Calls herself Milady Nevermore.”

  “Is her real name Kaitlin de Winter?”

  “That’s right. Kitty Winter. Kitty treats B. F. like trash.”

  “What’s happening to B. F.?”

  “Her Nibs locked her in the cellar. Very impotent persons are interested in her, too. Balls-Ammo took a peek at this file.”

  “Tell me more about Balsamo.”

  “I hear she’s going to America.”

  “Take the money. Hand me the folder.”

  The two women made the exchange. Irina opened the file and read it under a lamppost. The contents confirmed all her suspicions. Purity opened the satchel, examined the bills and then closed it.

  Absorbed in the file, Irina didn’t notice a man moving in the shadows. His head was encased in a white, hood-like mask that formed an implacable face with high cheekbones and thin lips. The mask had slits from which the ears protruded. The figure wore a black coat buttoned over a bare muscular chest. Black pants and gloves completed his costume. His right hand gripped a large sickle.

  “Traitor!” yelled the man in black. “Cut the branch!”

  The bizarre intruder leaped out of the darkness. His sickle made a wide sweep towards Purity. The blow was extremely swift. Irina never saw it make contact. All she saw was the Cockney’s blood-soaked hand over her face. Stumbling backward with the satchel, Purity fell into the Seine.

  “Murderer!” shouted Irina. Dropping the folder, she unsheathed the sword from her umbrella. Irina and the stranger thrust and parried back and forth. The duo locked blades near the dock’s edge.

  “Who are you?” demanded Irina.

  “I am the Pallid Mask! Be grateful that I have no instructions to kill you!”

  Pushing Irina away, the attacker jumped into the river. As the Pallid Mask vanished underneath the waters of the Seine, Irina recalled a play suppressed by the French government. The Pallid Mask had been another title for the Phantom of Truth in Le Roi en Jaune. The murderer had modeled his costume on the enigmatic character from the controversial drama.

  Victor Chupin was back in Paris. His long Spanish trip had ended in failure. Roger Vollin, the leading French authority on the Spanish Inquisition, owned a torture blade created by the infamous Sebastian Medina in the 16th century. The blade had been stolen in Paris, and the thief’s trail had led to Barcelona. Retained by Vollin, Chupin had futilely searched for the stolen artifact.

  Inside his office, Chupin, a short man of 47 years, now perused Irina’s report on the Berenice Fourneau investigation. Irina was seated in front of his desk.

  “I told Madame Trevor that no one arrived for the rendezvous,” she said. “She’s now convinced that the letter was a hoax. We’re fighting the Black Coats. I didn’t wish to put her in harm’s way.”

  “Irina, you must drop this inquiry. Berenice’s a thief whose family has persecuted you.”

  “I can’t abandon her–notwithstanding our dubious pasts and questionable relatives.”

  “I just don’t understand your sense of obligation to her.”

  “When we were at school, she confided all her secrets to me. I was like a priest hearing a confession. She even told me her greatest fear.”

  “We have no hints to Berenice’s whereabouts.”

  “The Black Skirt uniform is the key. It is sold by the House of Crafts, a London fashion firm operated by Madame Koluchy. Josephine Balsamo left the Fourneau school to work for Mrs. Moriarty, a former prefect. Years ago, I read the school’s files on all my predecessors. Mrs. Moriarty’s maiden name was Corbucci, although she was known at the school as Koluchy. Koluchy has to be Countess Corbucci. She must be related to Count Corbucci, the Camorra leader. Rumors exist surrounding a daughter named Catarina. He hid her during a civil war inside the Camorra. Her sanctuary must have been the school.

  “Berenice’s file confirmed that Kaitlin de Winter was also recruited by Koluchy after she left the Institution Bachelard. The two then abducted Berenice and coerced her into thievery. Kaitlin tormented Berenice by stealing her jewelry. Berenice maintained her love of Charles Dickens, for her codename was ‘Dodger.’ Kaitlin’s is ‘Milady Nevermore,’ a reference to both Dumas and Poe. Berenice is now her prisoner at the House of Crafts in London. She’s in danger. I want us to go to London at once to deliver her.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t,” said Chupin. “We won’t be ready for at least another week. 50,000 francs of our funds are lost at the bottom of the Seine. I must arrange a loan to avoid bankruptcy. If only the police had found the money when they recovered Purity’s body.”

  “Waiting isn’t an option. I’ll go to London by myself then.”

  “Someone needs to watch your back. Take another operative with you.”

  “You know very well we can’t spare anyone at the moment.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before, Irina. Why are you constantly running alone into danger? Are you punishing yourself for having been Madame Fourneau’s prefect? You need to forget about that cursed school.”

  “I’ll always have these to remind me,” said Irina, extending her hands. “You know why I wear these gloves. It’s because I can’t stand to see the flesh beneath. Dr. Cerral gave me the hands of a girl whom I persecuted. I’m still haunted by her memories.”

  “You didn’t kill her. In fact, you avenged her death.”

  “That act alone doesn’t wipe the slate clean. I fear that I’ll be damned for all eternity. If I rescue Berenice, then maybe God will forgive me.”

  “Very well,” said Chupin. “Go to England alone then. But you must recruit a regular assistant.”

  “You want me to hire someone in London?”

  “Yes. From one of our English competitors. I’ve tried to make inroads into the British market for years. The Agency needs someone familiar with London. Here’s a list of candidates.”

  “Anna Beringer of Tyler’s,” said Irina. “I’ve heard of her. May I hire someone not on this list?”

  “Only if it’s someone with top credentials.”

  At the House of Crafts, Madame Koluchy had asked Milady to come to her office.

  “Do you know Purity Parker, Milady?”


  “A scatterbrain currently on vacation in Paris. We should remove her in the upcoming purge.”

  “That’s no longer necessary. Her recent performance review indicated a potential for betrayal. As a precaution, I had her kept under surveillance. She was caught passing information to Irina Putine of the Chupin Detective Agency and was–terminated.”

  “Do we know what information she leaked?”

  “One file was missing. Fortunately, we keep duplicates. Here it is.”

  “My old schoolmate’s! Why is Putine interested in her?”

  “They met at a boarding school in Provence. This is Putine’s file.”

  Milady took the second file and read it. Besides Irina’s role in solving the Bluebeard Murders, she had known nothing about the sleuth’s past until studying this dossier.

  Later, she went to the Archives to find more information about Irina. She returned to her office with a file on Dr. Anatole Cerral of the Countess Yalta Memorial Hospital in Avignon. As she put the file on her desk, she felt something brushing against her boot.

  “Apollyon!” cried Milady with delight. She reached down to pick up a black cat. Petting it affectionately, she saw in the doorway a thin figure with dark hair and dark eyes. He wore a ring similar to Count Corbucci’s. He had come to London to attend the gathering of the High Council.

  “Our mutual friend missed you, but not as much as I,” declared Dr. Antonio Nikola.

  He had met Milady in 1889. As a favor for Koluchy, Nikola had visited the Institution Bachelard to evaluate a schoolgirl for induction into the Black Coats. He was so infatuated by the future ninja that he had given her a necklace. Koluchy introduced herself to her the following year.

  Putting the cat aside, Milady embraced Nikola in a passionate kiss. Some minutes later, they studied Cerral’s file while stoking the cat.

  “I understand your interest. Cerral could theoretically engineer another limb transplant, but an optic replacement is beyond even his skills.”

  “I was hoping...” murmured Milady, rubbing her eye-patch.

  Nikola touched her cheek affectionately.

  “Don’t worry about your outer beauty, my love. Nothing will ever mar your inner radiance.”

  “Excuse me,” said Madame Koluchy entering the room. “I need to talk to my chief of staff.”

  Inside Tyler’s Investigations in London, Irina met with Anna Beringer, a detective nearly her own age. Irina had enlisted Anna to help rescue Berenice. If she performed well, Irina planned to offer her a permanent job.

  “I’ve been hearing rumors about these Black Skirts,” volunteered Anna. “I’ve seen women wearing the uniform at a local thieves’ den, The Old Fellow. My informant there, Porky Shinwell, says the women work at the House of Crafts. They even have identification cards.”

  “One of us needs to sneak inside that building by posing as a Black Skirt. Once we determine the layout, we can rescue Berenice by breaking in during the night.”

  “Your plan won’t work. I’m too well known by the local criminals, and Josephine Balsamo knows you.”

  “She’s probably in America by now. Is it unusual for the Black Skirts to wear gloves?” asked Irina.

  “In this autumn weather, it’s quite common. Black is the preferred color,” Anna replied.

  “Do any of the Black Skirts resemble me?”

  “Yes, two: Mary Holder and Maude North.”

  “I must replace someone unimportant. What are their backgrounds?”

  “Mary’s the cast-off lover of Sir George Burnwell. Some small talent as a thief. A minor underling, at best. Maude, on the other hand, is a versatile impersonator. She instigates complex swindles with her husband. Our decision seems obvious.”

  “Yes. Clearly Mary.”

  That night at The Old Fellow, Porky Shinwell invited Mary Holder to share a glass of champagne with him in a backroom. When Mary entered the room, she was easily overpowered with chloroform by Anna and Irina. An identification card was found inside her purse. Irina quickly changed into Mary’s uniform and immediately left the tavern.

  The next morning, the Black Skirts reported for work at the House of Crafts. Scores of employees stood in a long line at the door. A gloved woman, believed to be Mary Holder, was constantly coughing into her handkerchief. The others, afraid to catch what she had, kept a polite distance from her. Irina presented Mary’s card to the Black Skirt on duty at the front door. Her face was still largely covered by the handkerchief, but she glanced at the guard. Her eyes widened upon recognizing Josephine Balsamo.

  Once inside, Irina wandered around the main floor for a few minutes. She was about to open a door leading to the basement when a hand tapped her shoulder.

  “Excuse me, you’re in a restricted area,” said a harsh voice. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Milady Nevermore. Show me your identification card!”

  Hoping that Milady had never met Mary, Irina complied. Watching the one-eyed woman, Irina felt she was in the presence of a relentless enemy. Milady returned the card.

  “Your name is Mary Holder. What were you doing here?”

  Before Irena could spin a yarn, Josephine Balsamo surfaced abruptly.

  “Mary’s eyes are black. Yours are blue. You’re–Irina Putine!”

  Irina punched Josephine’s jaw. The blonde woman fell down. The detective then hit Milady in the left eye, causing her to stagger a few steps back. Irina then twirled around to run, but her neck was quickly grasped from behind by Milady. The detective grabbed the wrists of her attacker, but she couldn’t break the Black Skirts’ hold.

  “Balsamo, are you alright?” asked Milady, as Irina struggled futilely.

  “Yes, Milady,” answered Josephine rising from the ground.

  “Our captive here is squirming. I could render her senseless by pinching a nerve, but a severe punch to the stomach should suffice. Will you oblige?”

  “With pleasure,” joyfully proclaimed Josephine as she delivered a sharp blow to Irina’s stomach.

  When Milady released her hands, the detective toppled forward. Milady bent down and patted the slumbering Irina’s head in mock affection.

  Elsewhere in the House of Crafts, three members of the High Council, Dr. Nikola, Madame Koluchy and Count Corbucci, were being harangued by Dr. Mabuse, a man of indeterminable age with a goatee. Mabuse was outlining his proposal for the Espionage Hotel.

  “The hotel will be equipped with secret listening posts. Two-way mirrors will permit the listeners to spy upon the guests. The architect will be here soon.”

  Milady interrupted the meeting.

  “I have captured an intruder–Irina Putine.”

  Koluchy, dressed in a black gown, extended her hand.

  “Will there be daylight?” interrogated the matriarch of the Black Skirts.

  “It will be daylight from midnight to noon if it’s the will of the Mother,” answered Milady, ritually.

  She then stooped down to kiss Koluchy’s ring. An order of execution had been issued against Irina. As Milady left, she passed the architect who had just arrived to join the conference. Eva Relli and Milady exchanged greetings.

  Irina regained consciousness in the basement of the House of Crafts. She was lying on a raised slab in the back of a dimly lit dungeon. Her arms and legs were shackled to the slab by her wrists and ankles. Six feet over her neck was an axe-like blade. Approximately 15 inches in width, it was attached to a metal pole leading upward to a series of clockwork-like gears in the ceiling.

  “The Medina blade!” uttered Irina.

  “You recognize my new toy,” said Milady. “I crossed swords with your employer when I stole it. My false clues sent him on a wild goose chase to Barcelona. Medina’s creation inspired a famous story by Poe. This blade was an early prototype. A later, larger blade could slice through a person’s midriff, but this particular model is most effective at decapitation. I have attached it to a mechanism constructed in the best traditions of Poe.”

  Milady pointed to
a series of levers on the ground.

  “The lever near your right foot starts and stops the pendulum. The middle lever restores the blade to its starting position. The far lever opens and closes the shackles.”

  The farthest level was pointing towards Milady. She gazed at her reflection in a wall mirror.

  “I’m very sensitive about my remaining eye. Your death would be more merciful if you hadn’t struck me there.”

  “I merely struck a craven bully, the Right Dishonorable Nevermore.”

  “You seem familiar with certain exchanges between two schoolgirls. Our files documented your friendship with my other prisoner. No doubt you corresponded with her during her stay at the Institution Bachelard.”

  Milady pulled the innermost lever toward her. Swinging back and forth, the blade descended with each movement. The one-eyed woman went to a small table and picked up a ball of black yarn with two long needles.

  “If you don’t mind, Mademoiselle Putine, I’ll knit to pass away the time.”

  “Do I get a last request?” asked Irina.

  “I will grant it within reason.”

  “May I see my friend before I die?”

  “Your reunion will be diverting. You probably haven’t seen her in over a decade.”

  Putting the needles and yarn back on the table, Milady marched towards another cell. Opening the door with the keys from her belt, she hauled Dodger out.

  “A friend desires your company,” mocked Milady. “You’re hiding something!”

  Milady yanked a page out of Dodger’s right sleeve. Throwing her back into the cell, Milady locked the door. She returned to the slab.

  “Regrettably, Dodger–B. F.–has broken the rules of her confinement. Her visiting privileges have been revoked. I’m courteous enough to read this paper aloud. Maybe you’ll find it entertaining. Dearest Berenice, pray for my soul, I will... pray...”

  Milady couldn’t finish. A tear formed in her eye. She placed the paper gently on the table.

  The pendulum was now five feet above Irina. Suddenly, the truth consumed the detective.

  “The prisoner is not Berenice–she’s Kaitlin! You’re Berenice! You abducted Kaitlin and forced her to join the Black Coats! You gave her the B. F nickname that she created for you! You called her Dodger! You took her title of Milady! You stole Kaitlin’s belongings!”