Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

Berry rose from his seat, and squinted at Quaint. 'You've been busy, Mr Quaint.'

'Call me Cornelius, Sergeant. We're way past polite manners now.'

'Right…you're saying Oliver is…was…in cahoots with a mercenary and a murderer? You know, I guessed there was bad blood between you two, but considering that he can't exactly stand up and defend himself, I find this in extremely bad taste, man!'

'Sergeant, know this: if Renard is in Crawditch, with a paid killer on his books, all hell could break loose to make Dante's Inferno look like a dinner party at Buckingham Palace,' said Quaint. He ran his hands through his thick grey-brown curls, and placed his elbows on the desk in front of him. 'I know Renard, Sergeant…I know exactly what he can do, and the havoc that can spiral out of his actions. You need to come on board with me quickly on this one, because doing nothing is not an option-you can believe me on that.'

PROMETHEUS AND BUTTER observed silently as Constable Jennings pulled away a wooden board from the disused bakery's door frame, and made his way through the rear entrance in Montague Street, about half-a-mile from the police station.

'It seems the constable did indeed lead us somewhere. The only question is where?' Prometheus toyed with his beard thoughtfully as he eyed the boarded-up windows of the bakery. 'I wonder what awaits us once we go inside, lad.'

Butter froze. 'We are going inside?' he asked. 'Are you sure that is wise?'

'Probably not,' Prometheus smiled. 'But if it makes ye feel any better, why don't I go in first?'

'If you are expecting me to argue, you will be disappointed,' said Butter with a gulp. 'Remember, if we die, no one can tell the boss about this plot.'

'Well, I s'pose we'd best not die then, eh?' Prometheus said, with a smirk hidden under his beard.

The bakery had long since submitted to disrepair, and the windows were covered with wooden boards. A huge chimney left unused for over ten years rose from the centre of the premises, and its once proud silhouette breached the district's skyline like a memorial to what once was. In its heyday, the bakery was an essential part of the commercial life of Crawditch, with the Thames bringing barges of grain and the many mills over the water in Whitehall, but the present landowners had cancelled any attempts at restoration, and had stripped everything from the building. Whereas once hundreds of skilled workers busied from place to place inside, now only the rats inhabited the halls, workrooms and warehouses.

Prometheus pushed his bulk through the tight gap in the same wooden boards that the far more slender Jennings had entered. He and Butter found themselves at the foot of a steep stone staircase. Careful not to dislodge any of the debris that littered the steps, they made their way to the top. Prometheus looked around what appeared to be an office, and a massive bathroom area. Most of the sinks were missing from the walls, and exposed pipes were entwined like handfuls of worms everywhere they looked.

Butter tugged on Prometheus's sleeve and motioned towards a room not far away. They could hear a man's voice. Although he was unable to tell who it was, Prometheus stepped forward first. Butter stood glued to the spot, looking around him cautiously, and feeling petrified. He stooped down and picked up a crooked metal pipe from the dirt-littered ground. With a little bit more confidence, feeling his fingers gripping the pipe, he skipped lightly after Prometheus.

The voice was getting louder. A distinct London accent could be heard, and Butter identified it as their quarry-Constable Jennings. Prometheus and Butter waited outside the door from where the voice emanated, poised to enter. Butter shifted his grip on the metal pipe and looked up at Prometheus, who nodded down at him.

'After three,' Prometheus whispered. 'One…two…'

'Is this a private game or can anyone join in, Miller?' chirped a voice from behind them. Both Butter and Prometheus spun around to face a blade-wielding Tom Hawkspear, just as Constable Jennings wrenched the door open from the other side. 'Well, well, well. Face to face, at last, eh?' taunted Hawkspear, stepping closer to Prometheus.

'Tom…what are you playing at?' the giant said slowly.

'This? I call it fun. Y'know, Miller…when they told me that I could play along wi'ye as much as I liked, but not kill ye, I nearly didn't take this job,' Hawkspear said. 'I wanted ye dead for what ye did to Lily and Sean. And then the Bishop explained…ye were just the bait. A target for the police t'pin their sights on, leavin' me free t'maim an' kill as much as I liked, so I guess I should thank ye for it.'

Constable Jennings clapped his hands excitedly at the unfolding show in front of his very eyes. 'I should've sorted you out the moment we brung you in!' he said, aiming his pistol at Prometheus's head. 'Could've saved meself a lot of bother.'

Prometheus growled, his bearded face resembling a grizzly bear. Jennings gulped, and stepped back, deciding that perhaps he should leave the job of taunting the giant to Hawkspear.

'It's useless t'pull that face, Miller…your bullish posturin' ain't gonna help ye now. This is it for ye,' said Tom Hawkspear. 'Ye've got a knife and a pistol pointed at ye…and ye're such a big target, an'all. Hard t'miss, know what I mean?'

Prometheus grinned. 'Ye know the problem with ye boys?' he said, his bristling beard twitching as he spoke. 'Ye've got your weapons pointed at the wrong person.'

Constable Jennings had just about enough time to glance down before Butter lunged at his groin forcefully with the metal pole. Jennings hit the deck like a sack of potatoes, and Butter spun on his heels, glaring at Hawkspear.

The Irishman seemed unshaken by the loss of his comrade, and he lifted his blade into the air menacingly. 'Ye got lucky, ye little elf, but soon ye'll be just as dead as Miller will be!' he growled. 'But it ain't even a fair fight…I've got a blade here, y'know.'

Butter eyes narrowed into thin slits, flashed with a devilish spark. 'I can see that. It is very nice,' he said, as he pulled aside is jacket-displaying his tusk-handled knife nestled into his belt. 'But I have one of my own…and it is bigger than yours.'

Hawkspear's jaw dropped.

Prometheus took advantage of his confusion, and dived straight for him like a freight train, hitting the Irishman square in the chest at full force. Hawkspear's body slammed into the door frame, with Prometheus's sandwiching him. Forcing the circus strongman back with a swish of his knife, Hawkspear grabbed a handful of rubble and threw it with all his might. The cloud of thick dust and grit pelted Prometheus in the face, and he was temporarily blinded. Hawkspear grinned, and rose to his feet.

'I ain't as easy t'kill as that, Miller…I'm gonna carve one o'me crosses into her heart, just like I did yet wee girlfriend,' he said, and threw his weight towards Prometheus, this time slamming the blinded strongman into a wall on the opposite side of the landing. The wall crumbled like chalk as Prometheus's bulk and Hawkspear's force of will collided with it, and they both tumbled over the banisters of the staircase, landing in a crumpled heap of arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs.

Butter saw Jennings's focus was elsewhere, and he barged his weight into him, kicking the pistol out of his reach. He swung his elbow into the young constable's neck, and as the man went down, he reached into the constable's pockets, producing a pair of metal handcuffs. He swiftly snapped them on Jennings's wrists.

'Oi! What's your game?' whined Jennings.

'You are a policeman, you should be shamed,' Butter scolded.

'Shamed? Bloody 'ellfire! What kind of nutter are you? You're lecturin' me?'