The Iscariot Sanction (11 page)

‘Until now,’ Sir Toby said, ‘our enemy has hidden in the shadows. It is your job to unmask him, and drag him kicking and screaming into the light.’

‘De Montfort is a man of prodigious power,’ John said. ‘I stabbed him and he did not bleed. He was physically strong and fast, and yet also possessed powers of foresight. What manner of man is he?’

‘Barely a man at all,’ said Cherleten. ‘A Majestic, yes; but something more, also.’

‘There are forces at work here that threaten the very fabric of our society,’ Sir Toby said. ‘You three agents are the first of our Order to make contact with these creatures in over a century. They are growing in number and audacity, but what exactly they are planning is unclear. De Montfort is the key to their plans, we believe, but his true motives are known only to him.’

‘Please, Sir Toby,’ Lillian said. ‘If you will forgive my bluntness, you are speaking in riddles. What are we dealing with and what must we do?’

Sir Toby almost smiled
, Lillian thought.
Almost
.

‘Do not be so keen to get back into the field, Agent Hardwick,’ he said. ‘That these monsters are not from the Rift is troubling indeed, for if they did not tear their way through to us like the other creatures of the night, then they must have been among us all along. I trust you understand the implications.’

In spite of everything that had befallen the Empire—indeed, humanity—in the last few years, Lillian had never heard Sir Toby talk in such a manner.

‘How do we know that they are not from the Rift? What are they?’ Lillian grew impatient. More than that, her shoulder was throbbing, and she was starting to feel nauseated. She realised that the sensation had been growing gradually since she had first set foot in the room, and as soon as she had thought this, it became harder to push her discomfort from her mind.

‘It is not easy to explain,’ said Sir Toby. ‘So I will begin with our more recent evidence, and you can draw your own conclusions. It began with wild reports of bodies being desecrated in funeral parlours and churchyards. Increased reports of bodysnatching followed and then, just two months ago, human remains were discovered by the Yorkshire constabulary in a small village on the edge of the moors.’

‘I remember reading about that in the newspapers,’ Lillian remarked. ‘They attributed the killings to an old legend about a beast on the moors, did they not?’

‘They did. And no one took it seriously, except perhaps to wonder if it was the work of the Riftborn; if perhaps the bones belonged to some Majestic who had overdosed on etherium.’ At those words, Lillian felt sure Arthur shifted uncomfortably. ‘And yet,’ Sir Toby went on, ‘when the same phenomenon occurred five more times, around York, Whitby and even Manchester, it came to the attention of Apollo Lycea.’

‘I had not heard of any other cases,’ said Lillian. Sir Arthur remained silent.

‘Then that is testament to the integrity of your fellow agents,’ replied Sir Toby. ‘I asked them to conceal all evidence of the crimes, lest it cause a panic, and to keep speculation about monsters and cannibals out of the newspapers. Isn’t that right, Sir Arthur?’

‘Indeed, Sir Toby,’ came the reply.

Lillian turned to look at Arthur. The only rule in the field was discretion. If Arthur had investigated a case without her and been sworn to secrecy—as was so often the custom—she could hardly hold it against him. And yet she did anyhow, for how could he withhold such information from her if he thought it might have any bearing on their own case?

‘What our agents discovered,’ continued Sir Toby, ‘was a string of disappearances—of both the living and the dead—in a pattern across the north. Mostly unfortunates and beggars, but all in most mysterious circumstances, and with no real regard for secrecy when disposing of the remains. Bones chewed, flesh eaten and, in some cases… well, Sir Arthur can explain better than I.’

Arthur cleared his throat, probably feeling the hole that Lillian’s eyes bore into him more keenly than most. ‘Of course, Sir Toby. As I stated in my last report, the final victim we discovered was in a less defiled state. A young woman, an unfortunate taken from the slums we think. The body was found in a crypt beneath York Minster, seemingly drained of all of its blood, and partly… eaten.’

Lillian observed that Sir Arthur looked uneasy at the memory. She guessed that he must have used his powers to discern something of the victim’s history, and perhaps had gleaned more than he’d bargained for. Whatever gruesome discovery he had made in York perhaps explained his hesitation yesterday.

She snapped her attention away from her partner when she realised that Lord Cherleten was standing right next to her. He had a way about him that was sly, and a tread that was silent as a cat. He reached across her, holding out a box of cigars to Sir Arthur, who took one gratefully and lit it. Lillian fancied it was to steady his nerves. She wished she could partake too, as the close proximity of Cherleten made her skin crawl, but that was not the done thing. No, for all of the systems of rank and military swagger of Apollo Lycea, it was still based in a gentlemen’s club, and Sir Arthur Furnival was a gentleman of high standing, not a mere soldier to be ordered about.

So what does that make me?

‘We encountered a great deal of superstition from the locals about the murders,’ Sir Arthur went on once his cigar was lit. ‘I confess, at first glance it was tempting to write it off as the work of the Riftborn; yet my own intuition and Smythe’s examination—’

‘Beauchamp Smythe?’ Lillian interrupted, instantly regretting her outburst as all eyes turned to her. In her experience, the surgeon Beauchamp Smythe was a popinjay, so absorbed in promoting his fledgling theories of ‘forensics’ that he often lost sight of the goals of Apollo Lycea. She felt the strangest sense of betrayal that Sir Arthur had been on a secret assignment with an agent she disliked.

‘Yes, the same,’ Arthur replied, the look on his face one of puzzlement and amusement both. ‘As I was saying, Smythe’s examination of the cadavers led us to believe that the killers were certainly flesh and blood. And I suppose now we’ve seen the evidence with our own eyes.’

‘Or perhaps you do not see it all,’ said Cherleten. He always had an air of eccentricity about him—eyes wide, red hair dishevelled. Every sentence uttered seemed to hang in the air, as if he were waiting for imaginary friends to finish it for him. Perhaps he was trying to be enigmatic. Lillian snuck a glance at Sir Toby, whose eyes belied an annoyance at his peer, if only for a moment.

‘Agent Smythe has been of singular use again,’ Sir Toby interjected, dismissing Cherleten’s jibe. ‘He has already examined the remains that you found in the Dials. Beneath Miss Goodheart’s fingernails was a small amount of necrotised flesh, like as not clawed from the attacker in her final moments.’

Both Lillian and Sir Arthur had heard many times over how Smythe believed that one day criminals would be apprehended by the scientific method of examining skin, blood and hair left at the scene of their crimes. And yet, they had also listened to Smythe bemoaning how such advances in forensic science were beyond the reach of the medical fraternity at this time.

‘This cannot help us identify the killer, surely?’ asked Lillian, lending voice to her thoughts.

‘So we would have said previously, were it not for Lieutenant Hardwick’s struggle with de Montfort. You see, as the lieutenant has told us, de Montfort did not bleed. The flesh beneath the girl’s fingernails was also curiously bloodless. Smythe has examined the girl, and the severed hand that Agent Hardwick and Sir Arthur discovered. He believes the flesh beneath the fingernails was not from the creature Agent Hardwick shot, although most like from its… kin.’

‘Kin? You cannot mean de Montfort.’ John sounded incredulous.

‘The flesh had been treated with some type of bleach. And it had been, in Smythe’s professional opinion, dead for longer than the unfortunate herself. That is to say, it looked as though it were taken from a corpse.’

‘But you said it was likely from her killer,’ Lillian said.

‘Indeed I did.’

Arthur was quickest to comprehend. ‘It has to be some new devilry of the Riftborn,’ he said.

‘I am afraid not, Sir Arthur,’ Sir Toby replied. ‘We entertained several theories at first, but eventually had to accept the truth of it. Events that we had long hoped would never come to pass have been set in motion. The Order’s learned opinion is that the creatures you three encountered are not of the Rift, but are indeed of our world—though they are not entirely flesh and blood. Lord Cherleten is here today because he has something of an insight into the case, having collated intelligence from several… sources… over the years. I do not mean to beat around the bush, but it is difficult for me to believe what I am about to tell you, even though I have already seen the evidence for myself…’ He trailed off, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
The old man is rattled
, thought Lillian. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cherleten smirking.
God, but he loves to hold all the cards
.

‘What do you know of vampires?’ said Cherleten, blurting out the question gleefully.

Sir Arthur almost choked on his cigar. John only half-managed to suppress a scoff. Sir Toby did not so much as blink. Lillian took the bait, if only to bring a swift conclusion to Cherleten’s game.

‘They are a fiction, dreamt up by gypsies and peasants from Bohemia and beyond, and served up in the penny dreadfuls by the more sensationalist writers. Unless you are suggesting that the things we all encountered yesterday were… vampires?’ She scorned the notion. Lord Cherleten remained unruffled.

‘A fiction, indeed? I suppose I would say the same, were I prone to denying the evidence of my own eyes.’

‘I’m sure Agent Hardwick means no offence,’ Sir Toby intervened. ‘Likewise, I am sure that we can both understand her incredulity.’

Cherleten smiled and returned to his seat, leaving a coil of thick cigar smoke in his wake that made Lillian’s eyes flutter. The oppressive atmosphere of the room was affecting her.
Damn this corset, I can hardly breathe.

‘I dislike the word “vampire” as much as you,’ Sir Toby said, ‘but Lord Cherleten has persuaded me of the truth of it. In your reports you both used the word “degenerates” to describe the creatures. You were not wrong; only, they were not degenerate humans that you faced, but degenerates of another race. They are ghouls—flesh-eating monsters—descended from their blood-drinking kin as surely as the common mongrel is descended from the wolf. It may not be entirely accurate to call these creatures “vampires”, but if the glove fits, as they say.’

Lillian was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. The cigar smoke was irritating; the pain in her arm was intense. She wanted nothing more than to go home for a hot bath and a hearty meal. But instead she had to listen to news of yet more horrors let loose upon a world already saturated with evil.

Lillian was thankful when John answered for them. ‘You mean to say that the Majestic I saw at the factory could have been a vampire himself? One of the
living dead
?’

‘It seems a strong possibility, particularly as you say that he commanded the creatures so easily. But understand this: we have had very few confirmed sightings of vampires. In fact, this Majestic represents only the second of his kind that we have ever heard of, the first being so long ago it is barely given a credible place in the Order’s records. And believe me, from what we know, these creatures are not the romantic, blood-sucking revenants of the penny dreadfuls. Beneath the veneer of humanity they are lifeless, soulless, and without compassion or mirth. Isn’t that right, Lord Cherleten?’

‘Oh, for the most part,’ the peer replied. ‘Though I wager they take their pleasures in their own particular way. I imagine they made a bit of sport of these two. How fortunate for us that they underestimated the intrepid lieutenant.’

How long must we suffer his prattling?
Lillian swayed slightly.

‘These creatures are not merely the blood-sucking undead that the more fanciful stories tell of. And their origins may be somewhat more natural than you would care to believe,’ Cherleten was only getting warmed up, it seemed. ‘Tales of vampires have been told around the world since before the birth of Christ, and indeed the Knights Iscariot claim to be descended from the very disciple for whom they are named—the blood of Judas is said to run in the veins of the creatures who control the ancient order, which makes their treachery against the Crown today hardly surprising. Tales of vampires, however, long predate these so-called knights. The Anglo-Saxons of our own isles spoke of nocturnal, blood-drinking half-men. Across Europe they are the
upir
, the
wampyr, the dearg-due
and the
strigoi;
in Africa the
ramanga;
in India the
vetala.
Even in South America, the most ancient cultures that we know of told of vampires called the
cihuateteo
, dead creatures that would impregnate the living with their spawn. I like that one in particular… so deliciously depraved, don’t you agree? Although I suppose the best of all are the
lamia
of Greece; for how poetic that our warriors of Apollo should be battling ancient Hellenic monsters?’

‘A goodly number of legends, my lord,’ said John, ‘but no evidence to link these creatures of the night with our man in Hyde; beyond, that is, some pickled flesh.’

‘And if vampires are indeed real,’ Lillian interrupted, ‘we need only know two things: where they are, and how to kill them.’ From the corner of her eye she saw John smile.

Cherleten pursed his lips and said simply, ‘Your father’s daughter, I see.’ Lillian winced at that. Lord Hardwick did not react. ‘For now, Agent Hardwick, you will have to show uncustomary patience in this matter, for there is more work in store for the three of you beyond common brawling. But heed my words; it is no coincidence that so many ancient cultures across the globe speak of vampires. These creatures are as real as you or me, and have perhaps been among us since the first man walked the Earth. Some say Adam’s first wife, Lilith, was one of them, and her offspring brought the darkness into the world. Vampires are older, it seems, than womankind.’ He chuckled at his observation. They are real, but you’ll be pleased to know that we are developing weapons in the armoury to combat this new threat. When next you meet our flesh-eating friends, you will perhaps be better equipped. I shall see to it.’