P. Elrod - The Hanged Man

“Lennon did that?”

“Bit of a rough fellow, but sharp instincts. He reasoned that if some band of madmen could do away with two peers in one night without batting an eye, then they’d do for you just as quick. We had volunteers keeping watch at a safe distance, at least until you disappeared into the Service building. Of course, when the shooting started they had to get clear, and I don’t blame ’em. While the lads were busy, Hamish and I got what story Fingate had to tell and we set about looking for Mrs. Veltre. Took us a while to find the woman’s flat, and then she wasn’t in. We learned a few things from street Arabs that led us to think she’d been kidnapped, so Hamish and I toddled over and infiltrated this party hoping to find clues. Had to bring Fingate along, he wasn’t keen to be on his own.”

“I’m not keen to be with company, either,” he put in, distress overcoming his usually diffident manner. “Not here.”

“I know, there will be billy-hell if we’re caught. Some guards back there noticed us and we had to defend ourselves.” He held up a white-gloved hand, which had blood on the knuckles. “Look what one fellow’s nose did! I just bought these, too. When those lads wake up they’ll be in a foul mood and tell all their friends.”

Alex had heard enough. “Then go . You have no idea the danger you’re in.”

“Actually, I do, but you can’t see my whey-faced cheeks in this light.”

“Stop joking and leave. When you get outside go left. There’s a Black Maria in the square. Go straight to it and tell them I sent you.”

“Delighted to do so, but we may not get past the other brutes they have on watch. We’re heeled, but I’d rather not shoot one.”

“Do whatever is needed. You were going to anyway, weren’t you?”

“Having permission takes all the fun out of it. You’re coming along, of course.”

“I’m not done here. Get her out. Quietly if you can, but out no matter what. What’s the matter with her, Doctor?”

“Not sure,” said Hamish. “Perhaps laudanum. There’s another prisoner but we couldn’t manage him and the lady both. Had to make a choice and she won.”

“Another one?”

“We couldn’t break the lock on his door, just peek through a grate. Nasty strange place they’ve put him, like something from an opera. He’s tied to a chair in a room full of-”

“Where?”

“Back that way. A pry bar or a fireplace poker might remove that lock. He’s wild, but looks weak as a kitten. Your man and Fingate should be able to handle him. Off his head with brain fever I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Who is he?”

“Don’t know. Said his name was Benedict and he demanded that we kill him.”

“My enemy’s enemy is my friend,” Alex muttered, feeling hopeful when the old Arab proverb popped into her head. If the Black Dawn found it necessary to hold prisoners, it followed that such unfortunates might be helpful to the Service. So far on this expedition she had learned much that was shocking, but nothing of use.

She again ordered James and Dr. Hamish to get Veltre away so she and Brook, with Fingate guiding them, could deal with the other captive.

Hamish was reluctant, but her cousin pointed out that “Alex has the bit in her teeth, just get out of her way and God help anyone who doesn’t.”

Such an exaggeration, she thought, but it convinced the doctor to take up his patient and leave. He departed, muttering about the hemp smoke addling them all.

Fingate’s excellent memory got them through a perfect maze of halls. At each turn they paused to check for guardians, but none were there to give challenge.

“Is this not too easy?” she asked in a normal tone of voice. The drumming had faded, though it was still to be heard. “Shouldn’t there be someone on watch?”

“Mr. Fonteyn thought so, too,” said Fingate.

“Everyone’s at that … gathering,” said Brook. “How did you find Mrs. Veltre?”

“By accident, sir. The doctors thought serving staff would know something useful. We followed them to catch someone to question, but came to this instead.”

Fingate paused and adjusted the wick of his lantern to increase the light. They were before a “T” intersection. A length of string, ends tied to nails driven into the mortar, stretched across its opening. A sheet of folded foolscap hung from the string.

Neatly printed in ink, it read: DO NOT ENTER. VIOLATORS FACE DISMISSAL WITHOUT CHARACTER … OR DEATH. The last word was underscored.

Serving as a signature at the bottom was a skull over crossed bones.

Brook cleared his throat. “ That is utterly ridiculous.”

“I disagree, sir. A servant lacking a character reference lacks work. For some, death is preferable to ruin. Once Dr. Fonteyn saw that he insisted on investigating.”

“He’d find it irresistible,” said Alex. “As do I. Fingate, if you would, please,” she added, with an encouraging gesture.

“Yes, Miss Drina.” He ducked under the string, resuming the lead. “We were cautious, of course. Dr. Fonteyn had concerns about trapdoors and bottomless pits.”

“He is fond of lurid reading.”

“Then we saw three fellows loitering … here. They weren’t part of the gathering to judge by their clothes. The doctors attempted to engage them in conversation, but were rebuffed and told to go back or know the reason why. Dr. Fonteyn took that as a challenge. It did not end well for them. We had to hide them, unbolted this door, and that’s how we found the lady. Gave us a turn seeing a body lying there. She woke up enough to give her name when asked, then fainted again. While Dr. Hamish looked after her, Dr. Fonteyn and I dragged the guards through and shot the bolt on them.”

“They’re in there?” The stout door had grate set into it, but the opening was too high for her to see in. Brook obliged, taking the lantern a moment and holding it up.

“Three ruffians, dead to the world,” he reported.

Fingate looked pleased. “They got a stern knocking about for their sauce. A dreadful place for a lady; I’ll not feel sorry for them.” He indicated another bolted door across the hall. “The man, Benedict, heard the row and called to us while we were sorting things. Dr. Hamish couldn’t get much sense from him.”

A large padlock of ancient vintage was in place.

“It’s too big for my lock picks,” Alex said. “Your walking stick, Mr. Brook?”

He gave the lantern to her and tried striking and then levering the hasp loose, but wood was no match for iron. He stopped before the stick snapped.

“We searched the men for a key,” said Fingate, “and then Dr. Fonteyn tried to shoot the lock, but barely made a dent. A more powerful cartridge might have an effect.”

The grate on this door was set lower, but Alex had to hold the lantern uncomfortably close to her head to get light through the opening.

The blood drained from her face and she retreated a step, nearly dropping the lantern. Fingate grabbed it in time.

“What is it?” asked Brook.

“I … I must get in there. Both of you … over there.” Her hands shook as she got the Webley free.

“But the noise-” Brook objected.

The roar was impressive, so was the damage to the padlock, but it took another shot to defeat it. She wrenched it from the hasp and pushed hard on the heavy door. For all her want of hurry, she paused on the threshold.

In the center of the chamber, bolted to the stone-flagged floor, was a massive chair. A tall, thin man with a ragged beard was chained to it by his wrists and ankles, his head bowed forward; dark hair, hanging in strings, hid his face. He wore a dressing gown and slippers. His hands trembled, fingers twitching as though playing a piano.