Order of Britain: Stone of Madness (2 page)

“I also want you to take Mr Daltrey here under your proverbial wing. I'm seconding him to the Order.”

There was a moment of flat silence as shock ran across Gordon Daltrey's face.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” the little man stammered, his voice cracking in surprise.

“You heard me, Gordon. You're being attached to the Order of Britain. You're one of our top researchers, and I feel they will need your expertise.”

“But sir... I...”

“Don't worry, Gordon. I have no intentions of sending you into the field,” the head of the Guild said. “I am merely using you as the basis for a support team for the Order. Their last expedition to India showed that they need a way to be kept abreast of current information.”

He turned to look at the three agents, who were staring at him flatly.

“Mr Daltrey is a specialist with communication spells. My intention is for him to remain here and research whilst you three are gallivanting around doing the heavy lifting.”

“You're so kind,” Elizabeth murmured. Clarence shot her a toothy grin.

“I'd take it as a kindness if you three would show Gordon to your offices, and help him settle in.”

“You mean our cellar?” Nathaniel said.

“Space is at a premium in the Guild, Nathaniel,” Clarence said reproachfully.

“This building extends into at least three other pocket dimensions, and you've put us in the cellar,” the lead agent responded acidly.

“...There are politics involved. Certain members of the council disapprove of my resurrecting the Order.”

“I rather thought they might,” Callum murmured.

“Be that as it may, I feel you are more useful than not, and it is ultimately my decision.” He smiled. “Don't let me detain you.”

The three agents shared a look, and got to their feet. The somewhat shell-shocked Daltrey remained seated, his eyes panicked.

“Sir, I...”

“Be off with you, Mr Daltrey. I have work to do,” Clarence said, his eyes focussed on the paperwork before him.

Callum took pity on the small man, and went over to him. Helping him from the chair, he patted Daltrey on the back, almost knocking the researcher off his feet.

“Cheer up, Gordon, it'll all look better in the morning.”

***

The cellar office of the Order of Britain operatives was dark. Some may have called it dingy, but that was doing it credit – it had gone through dingy and come somewhere out the other side.

Gordon Daltrey looked around it with barely disguised despair.

“I'm being punished for something, aren't I?” he said morosely.

“You tell us,” Elizabeth said, slumping into the chair behind her desk. The room was rather large, and filled with desks and chairs, but the three agents had crammed themselves into one corner. A locked weapons cabinet was in the corner, and Callum went over to it. Unlocking it, he withdrew a British service revolver, and turned to the smaller man.

“Do you know how to use one of these?”

“No! Of Course not!”

“We'll give you some training then.”

“But Mr Somerby said...”

Nathaniel sighed.

“How often have you worked with Clarence, Gordon?” he asked.

“Quite regularly. I was his personal clerk for five years.”

“And in that time, how often did you hear him tell the full truth to people?”

Gordon paused, then gingerly took the proffered revolver. Callum grinned at him.

“Just hold onto it for now, and get yourself settled in. We've got to finish up our report on dealing with that damned bogeyman, and then I'm going to get some sleep.”

“What about the data on the magical spikes?”

“We'll go through it in the morning, and see what we come up with.”

Gordon shrugged, and headed towards one of the desks. He lit the lamp, and began to sort the various files he was carrying into neat piles. Callum looked from the man to the detritus that covered his own desk, and ran an embarrassed hand over his scalp.

“Get back to work, Callum,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “The report isn't going to write itself.” 

***

Ron Faversham had fallen on rough times. Admittedly, those rough times had occurred about twenty years ago, and with the help of regular bottles of gin, Ron had been falling into them ever since. At one point in his life, he'd owned a small general goods shop, he'd had a wife, he'd had children.

And he'd had the gin.

The shop was but a distant memory, and the wife and children, well, he couldn't even remember their faces. Now, he was just another  old man in a dirty jacket sleeping in the park.

He pulled the newspaper over him, huddling beneath it for warmth.

“Now, Ron, what are you doing out here?”

Ron rolled over, and stared up with bleary eyes at the policeman standing over him.

“Try'na sleep.”

“Well, you can't be sleeping out here. You know the law.”

“Bug'r off!”

“None of that, old son. Let's get you somewhere warm – there's a nice space in the cells waiting for you.

Grumbling, Ron got to his feet, and began to shuffle off ahead of the constable. They set off through the tree-lined avenue, the tramp stumbling on cracked feet.

Around them the darkness seemed to get deeper, developing its own texture, like deepest velvet. The constable looked around nervously at the trees, then pointed to a gap between them.

“C'mon Ron, there's a shortcut through there.”

The pair stopped, and stared at the dark entrance to the trees. Somewhere in the back of Ron's gin-soaked brain, synapses long since unused began to fire. He felt a cold shiver of fear go down his spine.

“D'nt w'na.”

“Oh, just bloody get moving will you!” 

The constable gave him a shove on the shoulder, sending him stumbling towards the trees. Ron took a few shuffling steps into the darkness, then stopped.

“No. Not goin'.”

The velvet darkness swirled around them, and something snapped inside the policeman's mind. He aimed a kick at the tramps backside, sending him stumbling face first to the floor.

“You'll do what I tell you, you filthy bastard!”

Ron groaned, and the constable aimed another kick at his side. He felt something snap under his boot tip. The darkness seeped into his mind, whispering to him, pushing him onwards. He reached down to his belt, and drew his wooden truncheon. Ron began to struggle to hist feet, groaning as he came. The truncheon lashed across his face, smashing him back to the floor. Blood gushed from his nose as he began to struggle up once more. The policeman hit him again. Then again.

A young man was walking home from his night shift when he passed the trees. He paused, as a sound like someone tenderising a steak came from the woods. He paused, then went to investigate.

He wandered into the trees, as the moonlight began to silver the grass. He paused, and listened to the regular thumping sound coming from the darkness.

A chill ran down his spine as he stepped into the clearing amidst the trees. His eyes went wide as the policeman stood over the inanimate bundle in the grass. Liquid dripped from the end of the truncheon, black in the moonlight. The constable turned and stared at him.

The clerk ran. He ran through the trees and onto the path, the pounding footsteps of the constable following him. Tearing out of the park, another policeman stopped him.

“What's up with you, lad, you look like you've seen a ghost!”

The young clerk could only stare at him, then turned to look back at the park as the crazed constable emerged from the shadows.

***

Callum struggled into wakefulness as someone shook his arm. He woke up, and stared up at Elizabeth standing over him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Fetching you. Get up, we've got work to do.”

He glanced through the window and looked at the still dark sky.

“I have got to get a better job,” he grumbled. He sat up on the bed, and the covers fell away from his naked form. Elizabeth spun like a top, a rosy blush spreading up her cheeks. Callum cast her an amused look, and began to dress.

“So, what are we being sent after this time, the tooth fairy?”

“No. There's been some murders in one of the parks.” 

Callum paused, his shirt half open. Elizabeth glanced round, then snapped her view forward once more.

“Murder investigations aren't exactly our remit.”

“These are different. The Guild noticed a large spike in magical energy at around the same time of these attacks. Clarence wants us to have a look. Nathaniel is already on site.”

Callum sighed, and did up his shirt.

“Let's get to it then.”

***

A short hansom cab ride later, and the pair were walking into the park. Callum was wearing a long coat to hide the revolver at his side. Elizabeth had declined a weapon, relying on her magic to defend herself. Nathaniel met them at the entrance, where he beckoned them over to the side.

“Hold still,” he ordered.

“What...” Callum began.

Nathaniel reached up and touched his ear. There was a brief buzzing sound, and he flinched.

“Can you hear me, Mr Drake?”

Callum blinked in surprise. Nathaniel grinned at him. 

“Pinch your earlobe to respond. Daltrey came up with this one.”

Callum obeyed, gripping his earlobe between his forefinger and thumb.

“I read you, Gordon. Good work on this spell, there's very little interference.”

“Thankyou sir. I'll be monitoring magical activity in your area through the lattice over London, and I'll keep you abreast of anything to worry about.”

Callum resisted the urge to look up. The lattice was a network of magical threads extending over the city, a monitoring system that allowed the Guild to spot magical activity throughout London.  He nodded to himself, and focussed on the task at hand. They walked over to the three shrouded bodies on the floor, and looked at the shocked looking policeman standing next to them.

“Can you tell us what happened here?” Nathaniel said.

“Well, sir, I was patrolling around the outside of the park When this young gentleman came running out. Looked like he'd seen a ghost, he did. Next thing I know, Thomas, the other lad on patrol,is following him out and belts him as hard as he can with his truncheon. Lad dropped like a stone and hit his head on the cobbles. I dunno what came over Thomas, sir, but then he threw himself under the wheels of a cab coming up the road.”

Nathaniel looked into the policeman's haunted eyes for a few moments, then nodded.

“Alright constable, you can go. I'll clear it with your superiors.”

“Thankyou sir.”

“Who was the third man?” Elizabeth asked.

The policeman gave her a scared look, then glanced back at the shrouded corpses.

“Tramp by the name of Ron Faversham, Miss. Thomas beat him to death.”

Elizabeth frowned, and looked at the covered bodies.

“Where was that, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Back inside the park, Miss. A clearing back in the trees.”

“Alright, thankyou.”

With a relieved look on his face, the policeman headed off down the quiet street. The three agents shared a look, and headed into the darkened park. 

Another officer was standing by the entrance to the trees, his face showing an expression of mild sickness as they approached. He wordlessly pointed them towards the clearing, his handheld lantern showing the way. 

“They seem on edge, don't they?” Nathaniel noted.

“Wouldn't you be?” Callum replied. He led the trio into the trees, until they reached the small clearing.

A black stain had spread across the ground from Favershams body, testament to the violence that Constable Thomas had used. Callum knelt next to the stain, and examined it closely.

“He hit him from behind. The footprints are coming from the path towards the clearing. This wasn't random," he said thoughtfully. Standing, he walked to the edge of the clearing, and examined the trees.

Elizabeth and Nathaniel knelt by the bloodstain, and began to compile a scrying spell. Looking into the recent past wasn't difficult – it was one of the first spells any mage learnt – but as they set the spell in motion, the orb it created flickered, then died. Nathaniel frowned.

“Strange.”

“What's it doing?” Callum asked. He reached to his belt, and pulled out a knife. Holding it carefully, he began to chip away at the bark of one of the trees.

“Something's blocking the spell. We'll have to work around it.”

Callum looked at the chip of bark in bis hand, turning it this way and that. He half-listened as Nathaniel and Elizabeth began to weave their spell, trying to shake off the idea that something was very wrong.

The tattoo on his arm began to tingle as he looked at the woodchip. Behind him, he felt the other two agents release their spell...

A sharp pain ran up his right arm, and he spun as Nathaniel released the spell. A glowing orb rose above the bloodstain on the grass to hover about three feet above the ground.

“Something isn't right...”

The orb turned black, then expanded, throwing Elizabeth and Nathaniel back. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and raised her hands, a protective ward leaping up in front her like a shield.

“What the hell...”

A pair of glowing red eyes formed at the centre of the orb, and hairy, gigantic legs began to slide out of its circumference. The orb expanded into a massively furred, segmented body, a cruelly pincered mouth extending from the front.

The giant spider turned to look at Nathaniel, and opened its slavering jaws. The lead agent stared at it, horror creeping across his face.

“Nathaniel, get down!” Callum yelled. He reached inside his coat and drew the revolver. Thumbing back the hammer, he levelled it at the red eyes, and fired.

A gout of blood spurted from the monsters head, and it reared back in pain, before rushing at the Dragon-Blood. Callum dived to his side and rolled behind Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth dropped the word for a moment, and thrust her hand forward. A bolt of fire flashed from her hand to impact against the spider's side. With a smell of scorched hair, the spider reared its head back and spat a stream of fluid at the pair.