Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'What is it, Horace? What do you want from me, eh? D'you want me to fall honourably onto my sword like those Japanese wotsits?' said Dray hoarsely, hot breath billowing from behind his clenched teeth.

'What I want is for you to think about how it's going to look if you don't even bother to pretend to listen to what those people are asking for…all they want is to feel safe in their beds, Oliver, surely you can understand that?'

Berry didn't wait for a reply, and he turned away, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the stranger who stood in the station's yard. The man looked and sounded for the entire world just like his Commissioner, but this man was different. He was acting in a cold, emotionless manner that was very unlike the man he had known for many years. Berry only hoped that Dray would find his true self soon, for if any more of him were to flake away, how much of Berry's respect and admiration for him would erode with it? He prayed that his superior would make the right decision when the time came. Sergeant Berry opened the station door, and returned to his duties inside, leaving Dray alone in the chill November wind.

Dray's expression was fixated on the mist-shrouded moon above him, and he pondered Berry's words aloud. 'The people want to feel safe in their beds? Don't they know, man? Are they stupid? There aren't many places left in this world that you can feel safe in any more. Everywhere's gone to hell.' Commissioner Dray watched distractedly, as his trail of warm breath curled up into the night sky. His eyes barely registered another misty plume swirling with his own, entwining into the night. Dray heard a long, breathy exhale at his back, and he froze.

'Sure, an' ye don't know how right ye are, Commissioner,' said a strong Irish voice directly behind him. 'Everywhere has indeed gone t'hell…and I've saved ye the best seat in the house.'

A short time later, Sergeant Horace Berry was alerted to a cacophony of raised voices, screams and yells from outside. Berry rose from his desk, and stared across the station. He threw down his paperwork and scratched at his head.

'Marsh? What the blazes is all that noise?' he called over to the constable manning the front desk. 'It's like a bloody zoo out there.'

Marsh shrugged. 'It's that crowd, Sarge, although, sounds more like a lynch mob to me. You want me to go out, try and calm 'em down a bit?'

There was suddenly a hammering on the station's door, as many fists pounded themselves on the hard wood. Berry scowled at the entrance, shooting a look to Marsh.

'No, let me,' he said. 'If I don't sort them out, they'll have the bloody doors off their hinges, and we'll be freezing our socks off all night.'

Berry yanked the door open and was greeted by a horde of people. Some were being comforted by others, and some were pointing harshly at the police station. As he tried to get their attention, he stared across their faces. As well as being angered to the point of rage, there was another, more upsetting expression taking residence upon the townsfolk's faces. It was an expression of something that Horace Berry had seen before-fear. He held up his hands, imploring the residents for their silence, and gradually, one by one, he managed to calm them to the point where he could be heard.

'Now, listen to me, everyone,' Berry said confidently, clapping his hands, trying to get eye contact with as many of the folk as possible. He knew most of their names, and all of their faces. Some were merchants and store traders, some were foremen, builders and dock workers, and others were elderly, or weak-looking residents. Berry blew on his whistle to halt the tumultuous baying.

'Please! I understand you're all very worried…but I want to reassure you that-' Berry was suddenly distracted as something pelted his shoulder, and he wiped away at it instinctively. As he touched the warm, wet substance he immediately recoiled, staring at his fingers-it was fresh blood. Berry spun around, nearly slipping from the steps in the spilt blood, and stared up towards the roof of the station, higher and higher to examine the source.

It didn't take him long to find it.

Commissioner Dray's corpse was stripped naked, wearing only his policeman's uniform jacket and nothing else, hanging from the roof of the police station by his neck. Bathed in the amber light from the station lamp, his internal organs and intestines hung like garlands from a vast open wound, dripping pools of crimson blood onto the front steps of the station. Of all the sights that clung to Sergeant Berry's memory, this was unlike any other, and its horror stained itself into his brain.

'Tucker! Marsh!' Berry yelled, as two constables tumbled out of the station looking decidedly flustered. Berry pointed up to the grotesque scene above their heads, and the two young policemen immediately lost their control over the power of speech. 'Get up there, right now, and get him down, for crying out loud…I'll disperse these people…and get every available man assembled right here immediately. Get anyone and everyone. Whoever did this is still in the area-go!'

And, very quickly, all-out madness erupted on the streets of Crawditch.

Prometheus and Butter shrank back behind a blacksmith's workshop and watched pandemonium ensue, as hordes of policemen-hastily buttoning up uniforms and flattening down hair -rushed out onto the street at the front of the station. As Sergeant Berry held court and barked an assault of orders at his men, Prometheus glanced down at the small Inuit by his side.

'We were lucky we left when we did, mate,' he said.

Butter nodded frantically, his jet black hair flopping into his eyes. He pulled the fringe apart in the middle like a pair of curtains, and looked up hopefully at his gargantuan companion. 'What's we do now?' he asked.

'I'm open to any ideas,' said Prometheus grimly. He squatted down, meeting Butter's gaze. 'The main thing is we know who's behind all this, well, at least we sorta know…and we have to make sure that at least one of us gets through this to inform Cornelius, you understand?'

'Yes, I understand,' Butter agreed. 'What did Frenchman say about working for…"heavenly connections"? What means this?'

'I would assume he means someone in high authority in the Church. And I heard him say something about a "Hades Consortium", whoever he is.' Prometheus grabbed Butter's shoulders. 'Things've gone haywire here. This district wasn't exactly safe beforehand, lad, but now with Dray's murder, and his men runnin' around like headless chickens, they're still no nearer to catchin' Hawkspear.'

'I do not think it good where we find ourselves,' chirped Butter.

'Ye're a master of the understatement, Butter. Considerin' the mess things're in, I really don't know what t'do for the best.'

'Return with me to the train, then. We must tell the boss about the Commissioner…and this Frenchman…he seemed to know the boss also.'

'The problem is, we were possibly the last people to see the Commissioner alive, and if it gets out that we were hidin' in the bloody bushes at the time-we'll be right in the swill, good and proper,' said Prometheus. 'And I'll probably be hanged twice over.'

'Prometheus, we have done well, yes? We have learned much whilst we dropped our eaves,' said Butter emphatically. 'Boss will be pleased, and we must not let it go wasted, I think.'

Prometheus suddenly flattened himself against the wall, clamping his rough hands over Butter's mouth. A lone policeman walked briskly past their hiding place, a matter of feet from them, and Prometheus recognised the young man instantly as Constable Jennings.

'Where's he off to in such a hurry?' Prometheus asked his companion.

'The opposite direction to everyone else,' noted Butter.

'I noticed. You don't need Madame Destine's powers to know that one's a bad seed,' said Prometheus. 'I think we should follow him…see where it takes us, hmm?'