Justin Richards - The Death Collector

Eddie could see it now — the huge creature was bent almost double. It filled the tunnel as it charged towards them. The match-light faded as Sir William disappeared, and Eddie was left with the impression of huge teeth snapping at him in the darkness. He could smell the monster’s oily breath as he scrabbled at the wall, desperately trying to find where the others had gone. Jaws clamped shut close to his face, as he finally found the opening and fell shrieking into it.

There was a narrow gap — a short passageway leading into another parallel tunnel. Eddie was barely through when another roar echoed after him, followed by a frantic scrabbling and scraping. He could imagine the monster slashing at the entrance of the passage with its knife-like claws — gouging out chunks of brick as it widened the passage so it could follow them.

‘Let’s hope it isn’t clever enough to realise that these tunnels probably join up further on,’ Sir William said.

‘I think it’s time we found a way out of here,’ George said.

‘Indeed it is. I’m down to my last couple of matches.’

‘Perhaps there isn’t a way out,’ Liz said quietly.

‘There must be an inspection hatch or something somewhere,’ George told her. ‘Probably up that way. The tunnel slopes slightly, and a hatch is likely to be at a higher point.’

‘Good thinking,’ Sir William said. ‘Let’s take a look shall we?’ He led them up the tunnel in the direction George had indicated. To their relief, the sound of the monster’s frantic scraping and scratching gradually faded into the distance.

‘So let’s recap on what we know,’ Sir William suggested. They were walking slowly in darkness now, their feet splashing through the thin stream of foul-smelling water that was washing down the tunnel. ‘Lorimore wants the final volume of Glick’s diary. Presumably for some entry he believes is in it. An entry that means nothing in itself, but provides a clue to what Lorimore is really after. Some clue that no one else has yet managed to decipher.’

‘He approached Albert Wilkes to get hold of it,’ George said. ‘Maybe he murdered Albert when he refused to help.’

‘Or maybe he died of natural causes,’ Sir William said.

‘What about Wilkes’s body?’ Liz asked.

‘Yes, a rum do,’ Sir William told them. ‘It sounds fantastic, but I believe that Lorimore somehow reanimated Wilkes in the hope he would retrieve the diary, or at least show them where it was kept. Instead of which poor old Wilkes surprised them by settling back into his usual routine. They thought he’d gone to his house to get the diary, and instead he went home for tea.’

‘That’s why Blade was trying to get him back,’ Eddie realised.

‘So they somehow switched him off, as it were, when that didn’t work. And then they replaced the body, rather hastily, when there was a possibility it might be dug up again,’ Liz said. ‘When Mrs Wilkes told people her husband was walking.’

‘A very hasty job indeed,’ Sir William agreed. ‘In fact they didn’t have time to put him back together properly after whatever they had done to him. They were forced to use bones that came from elsewhere, for example. They hoped no one would notice. I shudder to think to what use Lorimore had put the poor man’s own limbs.’

‘And now we find he has this … creature at his beck and call,’ George said.

‘Yes,’ Sir Wiliam agreed. ‘I should like to learn more about that. How Lorimore has managed to reconstruct a dinosaur, if that is indeed what it is.’

‘A question for another day, perhaps,’ Liz suggested. ‘I don’t fancy trying to examine the brute down here.’

Eddie was running his hand along the crumbling bricks of the tunnel wall as they shambled along. As Sir William was speaking, Eddie’s hand hit something — a rusted metal bar running down the tunnel wall. He suppressed a cry of surprise and pain.

There was another bar close after the first. The rust was brittle and sharp, flaking off under his palm. He was about to move on, when he realised what it must be.

‘Hang on! It think there’s a ladder here.’

‘Good work, young man. I have just one match left for this contingency.’

A moment later it flared into life, and Eddie could see that it was indeed a rusty iron ladder, set into the wall of the tunnel.

‘It doesn’t look too secure,’ George said. He pulled at it experimentally and dust and lumps of old cement showered down from above.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Sir William said.

‘And it must go somewhere.’

‘So long as it isn’t locked or sealed off,’ George pointed out.

‘Well, let’s find out shall we? Eddie.’

‘I know, I know.’ He took hold of the ladder and pulled himself up to the first rung, testing it carefully with his foot in case it was ready to give way. ‘I’m the lightest so I get to see if it’s safe.’

‘Good lad.’

‘The question, then,’ George was saying as Eddie hauled himself up the ladder, ‘is what was Glick writing about in that diary? What we have seems meaningless. The answer lies in the Crystal …’

‘Maybe he went to a seance with those creepy people,’ Liz said. ‘Saw something in a crystal ball, like Eddie said.’

Eddie had reached the top of the ladder. It ended in a heavy metal grating, and through it he could see the foggy world outside. Poking his fingers up through the grille, he could feel the cold of the night air.

‘Just that one page survived?’ Sir William was asking.

‘Lots of pages survived,’ George replied. ‘But most of them were blank. There can only have been that one entry in that last volume.’

‘You didn’t tell me that,’ Liz said sharply.

‘It’s hardly important.’

Eddie heaved at the grille. He could feel it move slightly. Rust and crumbling cement rained down on his head and he coughed and blinked before trying again.

‘Hardly important?’ Liz echoed. ‘Did it not occur to you that if there was only one entry in that diary, then what Lorimore is after might well be at the end of the previous volume?’

With an almighty effort, Eddie managed to heave the metal grating up and out. He shoved it sideways until there was room to squeeze past and out into the deserted street above.

George’s voice sounded small and quiet as it followed Eddie out of the sewer. ‘I never thought of that.’

It seemed to Eddie that if there was a job that needed doing and which was important or dangerous, then he was the one who got volunteered to do it. The British Museum was a large building, true. But he was sure he could get inside and be able to find his way to wherever Glick’s surviving diaries were stored. He had offered to climb in through a window or sneak round the back or anything.

But no. George and Sir William and Liz had other ideas. Better ideas. It was all made to seem like a discussion with Eddie as an equal partner. Except he never got his way, while everyone else got theirs.

Which was why Eddie was outside the imposing main entrance to the British Museum, looking round for whoever Lorimore now had watching the place following Berry’s treachery. They weren’t hard to spot. Two of them — Eddie recognised the type. Large men with beer bellies who would knock you down and steal your wallet and your watch as soon as look at you. Not quick, but strong. If they got hold of him he would be in trouble.

Despite himself, Eddie found he was relishing the moment, enjoying himself. The two thugs were standing together on the corner of Museum Street, and since they were together they could not keep an eye on the back of the building. Perhaps there was someone else there. It didn’t matter.