Legion of the Dead (8 page)

A
da Gussage’s face hovered before me, her currant-bun eyes glinting with concern.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you, Barnaby Grimes!’ she exclaimed. ‘But I thought I saw figures moving about down here in the graveyard. Spooks and ghouls my neighbours would have said – but Ada Gussage doesn’t believe in such tomfoolery. No, I was thinking it was graverobbers more like, out to dig up poor folk’s bodies to sell to those anatomizers and surgeon butchers in Hartley Square and the like.’

I swallowed hard, my tongue so dry it felt
as though it was glued to the top of my mouth. I was sweating and shivering, and my temples throbbed.

‘Adelaide Graveyard wouldn’t be the first those bone merchants have disturbed just lately,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘And it won’t be the last, you mark my words, Barnaby Grimes.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here, I don’t suppose you’ve spotted a certain gentleman hanging around, have you? Wears a long black cape trimmed with ocelot fur and a swanky high hat with a dark-red band. He’s one of them graverobbers, I’d bet my last brass farthing on it …’

I shook my head weakly, trying hard to concentrate on her words and banish the nightmarish vision of the Emperor from my thoughts.

‘Pity,’ she said. ‘I bet he’s a doctor or some such,’ she went on, her sing-song voice ringing in my head. ‘Now, a nice cup of tea, that’s what you need, Barnaby Grimes. A cup
of smoked Assam to keep the cold out.’

‘Tea,’ I murmured. ‘Tea.’

‘That’s right, a cup of tea,’ she smiled. ‘You come back with me, young Barnaby. Ada Gussage’ll see you right …’

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Ada, but I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to get to Riverhythe. That’s why I took a short cut through the graveyard and—’

‘And what, Barnaby?’ she said, her face looming closer. ‘What did you see?’

‘I don’t have time now,’ I muttered as Firejaw O’Rourke’s hideous face sprang into my mind. ‘The professor … he’ll be worried. Waiting … must get back to him …’

I turned and staggered away, the breathing-hood clamped under my arm. Behind me I heard Ada Gussage firing off questions. Was I all right? Why was I dressed in those funny clothes? Could she help in any way? I had no energy to respond. I needed all my reserves to make it to Riverhythe. She called after me,
telling me to ‘watch my step’ and ‘take care’, before – as I turned a corner – her voice faded away.

There was no question of my returning to the short cut through the Adelaide Graveyard. Instead, I resigned myself to taking the long way round to the jetties at Riverhythe, along the harbour wall.

The harbourside was all but deserted. As I stumbled on, my head pounding and my legs like lead weights, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. The fog-blurred moon was low in the sky, spotting the tops of the waves with muted silver and casting shadows across the cobbled harbour wall. With so few people out and about, emboldened rats had emerged from their filthy holes. They scurried this way and that, snatching any food they could find – cabbage leaves and onion skins; spilt grain … Half a dozen of them squabbled over a rotting pumpkin, gorging themselves on the orange
pulp, oblivious to my presence as I staggered past them.

A deep sonorous sound echoed across the harbour, and I looked up to see the Spruton Bill lighthouse flashing from the mudflats in the distance. The foghorn sounded again as I approached the jetties of Riverhythe.

‘Barnaby!’ a familiar voice rang out. ‘Barnaby, my boy.’

It was the professor. His coat was open and his hair was flapping wildly as he came running along one of the jetties, his footsteps hammering on the wooden boards.

‘Oh, my word, Barnaby,’ he cried out, his voice high and tremulous, ‘how glad I am to see you. I was about to call the Harbour Constabulary and get them to trawl the harbour.’ He shook his head. ‘My theory about the Kuching scorpion limpets was quite wrong. You’ll never guess what I found—’ He fell still, his look of relief giving way to one of concern. ‘But, my dear boy!

You’re injured! Let me take a look …’

As the professor took my arm, a pain of such intensity shot through me that I let out an anguished cry. Suddenly, what strength I still had deserted me, my knees buckled and everything went black.

The next thing I knew I was lying on something soft and comfortable. A bright light was shining, turning everything behind my closed eyelids a deep orange-red. For a moment I lay there, listening to the sound of a bird chirping close by, and the soft clatter of wooden spoons in metal pots in the background.

I opened my eyes and looked round. Fluffy white clouds were flitting across the sky outside the window; a pert sparrow was perched on the ledge.

‘Ah, Barnaby,’ the professor called across the room. ‘You’re awake!’

Sitting up on one elbow, I watched as he
poured a pale green liquid from a saucepan into a mug and then hurried across the laboratory to the makeshift bed – an upholstered sofa, strewn with blankets – where I lay. He held out the steaming beverage, and my nostrils quivered at the spicy aroma.

‘Madderwort tisane,’ he said. ‘Wonderful restorative qualities.’

‘So, how long have I been asleep exactly?’ I asked, as I raised the sweet-smelling drink to my lips and took a small sip.

The professor seized the fob-watch which hung from a chain at the front of his high-buttoned waistcoat, and examined it. He frowned, and I watched his lips move as he performed a quick calculation.

‘Thirty-seven hours,’ he said.

‘Thirty-seven hours!’ I spluttered, madderwort tisane joining the other stains down the front of PB’s grubby lab coat. ‘But … but that makes it …’

‘Tuesday,’ said the professor. ‘Tuesday
afternoon. One thirty-seven, to be precise.’ He returned the watch to his waistcoat pocket and tutted sympathetically. ‘You’ve been very poorly, Barnaby, my boy.’

‘Poorly!’ I exclaimed, putting the mug aside and jumping to my feet. ‘But … why didn’t you wake me, PB? I’ve got business to attend to …’

Suddenly, I felt extremely groggy. My head swam and all the strength seemed to go out of my legs. I sat back down heavily on the sofa and held my head in my hands.

Tuesday already! But what about all my
Monday
appointments? A tick-tock lad’s reputation was built on punctuality. In my line of work, I couldn’t afford to be late.

‘I’ve been carrying out experiments,’ said the professor. ‘The creature that attacked you appears to have had a poisonous bite. A slow-acting venom, by my calculations. Quite fascinating!’ He nodded towards the window, where an oilskin boilersuit was draped over
the back of a chair. ‘If it hadn’t been for the Neptune suit, it could have been a whole lot worse …’

Slowly, everything started to come back to me. I’d been on a diving expedition, and been attacked underwater …

‘I dressed the wound,’ the professor was saying, leaning forward and touching the bandage on my arm gently, ‘with a sphagnum-moss poultice to draw the poison.’ He smiled. ‘The Inupiaq people of the Arctic swear by it.’

‘But what
was
it?’ I asked. ‘The creature that attacked me?’

‘Come, I’ll show you,’ said the professor.

I started back with surprise. ‘You have it here?’ I said.

The professor nodded. ‘I fished it out of the harbour,’ he said. ‘You did a very good job of finishing it off, Barnaby. Mind you,’ he added, chuckling softly, ‘it wasn’t easy getting it back here – particularly since I also had
an unconscious tick-tock lad to contend with.’

This time, I climbed to my feet more slowly. I paused for a moment to wait for the room to stop spinning.

‘It’s called a black-scaled lamprey,’ the professor explained as he helped me across the laboratory. ‘They’re usually found in the tropical waters of the East.’

He led me to an imposing glass tank at the far end of the laboratory, where the dead creature hung suspended in a solution of pale yellow formaldehyde. I took a sharp intake of breath. Even in death, the lamprey was a formidable sight.

‘This fine specimen probably reached our shores by gripping the hull of a cargo ship with those impressive jaws,’ the professor explained. ‘Its bite is remarkably strong – and, as I say, ferociously venomous.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘But then I don’t have to tell you that, do I, Barnaby?’

I shook my head grimly, staring once more at those circles of savage hooked teeth that ringed its dark gullet; teeth that had embedded themselves so painfully in my arm. I could also see the savage marks left on the creature’s grotesque head and neck where I’d repeatedly driven home the blade of the axe in my frenzied efforts to escape.

Suddenly, the extraordinary events of that terrifying night came tumbling back to me in a rush. The sea monster, the near drowning – and the hideous apparition I’d seen in the graveyard …

‘PB,’ I began, ‘something else happened that night …’ And I told the professor all about the gruesome events in the Adelaide Graveyard.

He listened with a thoughtful expression on his face until I was finished. Then, refreshing my cup with more of the herbal infusion, he patted me on the shoulder.

‘From what you’ve told me,’ he said, ‘I
suspect that the lamprey’s venom contains a hallucinogen …’

‘Hallucinogen?’ I queried.

‘A mind-altering substance,’ the professor explained, ‘which quite likely made you see things, Barnaby, that weren’t real—’

‘You mean I dreamed the whole thing up?’ I interrupted incredulously.

‘Quite possibly, my boy. Quite possibly.’ The professor smiled. ‘After all, corpses don’t just come to life and dig themselves up, now, do they?’

I had to agree and, although my arm was in a sling and I still felt light-headed, I have to admit I felt a wave of relief wash over me at the thought that Firejaw O’Rourke had not in fact risen from the grave, and that the whole thing had been a hallucination. The professor assured me that the effects of the lamprey’s venom had had ample time to wear off, and that I could dispense with the sling in a day or so. He also apologized fervently for
unwittingly placing me in such danger – though seemed extremely pleased at how well his precious Neptune suit had performed.

He handed me an envelope as I gathered my things together and prepared to take my leave. It contained twice my normal fee.

‘As long as you think you’re up to it, Barnaby,’ said the professor, patting me on the shoulder as he guided me back across the laboratory. ‘Perhaps today, though, you might want to leave by the door rather than the window.’

I laughed. It was sound advice which, for once, I decided to heed. You need two arms, not to mention a clear head, to highstack across the city, and the bite from that scaly lamprey had taken it out of me. Having promised to return later in the week, I bade farewell to the professor and set off.

It felt odd being down on the ground with all the other cobblestone-creepers – and,
although not as demanding as highstacking over the rooftops, the streets held more than their own fair share of challenges. For a start, there were the carts and carriages, their whip-wielding drivers hammering along the narrow thoroughfares oblivious to those on foot. Then there were the jostling crowds thronging the narrow pavements; all elbows, shoulder barges and shoves in the back. With my arm in a sling and my head yet to fully clear, I found my walk back to my rooms in Caged Lark Lane every bit as exhausting as a cross-town highstack.

Surfaced with a mix of sea-coal cinders and crushed oyster shells, and lit by a single oil lamppost, Caged Lark Lane was a small alley, just up from the crossroads where Laystall Street crosses Hog Hill – although the casual passer-by could be forgiven for missing it. But then, that’s what I liked about Caged Lark Lane. It was a forgotten, overlooked corner of the great teeming city and, apart
from J. Bradley-Arnold’s paper merchants on the corner and Fettle’s Yard, where Hackney carriages were repaired, my apartment house was the only other building in the lane.

Number 3, Caged Lark Lane was old, rundown and in need of repair. Not that I’m complaining. For what they were, my rooms were very reasonable. More importantly, the high roof atop the five-storey building offered both excellent views and easy access to the surrounding rooftops to any highstacker worth his salt.

Today, though, I wouldn’t be shinning down the drainpipe and entering through my attic window. Instead, like more conventional occupants, I climbed the stairs to the front door.

As I did so, I heard the words of the neighbourhood newspaper-seller floating through the air. With his wooden leg and eye-patch, Blindside Bailey was an old war veteran supplementing his meagre pension as best he
could. By day, he would sell the editions of the newspapers; by night he would entertain the locals in the Goose and Gullet by recounting his past campaigns to any who would stand him a drink. Many’s the time I had whiled away an evening, listening to Blindside’s tales of a soldier’s life in the far-off lands of the East.