The Monster Within (4 page)

The room at the bottom opened out onto four tunnels, each large enough for a man
to stand upright.

‘Where do we begin?' Scarlet asked.

‘I have no idea.'

None of these tunnels appeared to have been built to transport water. Jack suspected
they were designed to
lead to places that did. On the ground he spotted a piece of
cloth. It looked like a patch from the shoulder of a shirt, and on it was printed
a picture of a lightning bolt.

Jack shone the candle into the nearest tunnel. It stretched out for another fifty
feet before veering to the right. Moving to the next tunnel, the candlelight painted
the far end, catching a glimpse of a huge misshapen form.

It moved.

Blimey!

Something slammed into Jack's chest. He dropped the candle, drowning them in darkness.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘You should not have been there in the first place,' Mr Doyle thundered. ‘You know
how dangerous the sewers are.'

Jack and Scarlet were back at Bee Street. Gloria had been sitting across the table,
silent, but now she leant forward in anticipation. ‘And then,' she said, ‘what happened?'

‘There was a scream,' Scarlet said. ‘So terrifying it would wake the dead.'

‘Was it the monster?'

‘No, it was Jack.'

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I wouldn't call it a scream,' he said. ‘More
of a warning.'

‘In that case it was a very strange warning because you were completely unintelligible.'

‘A cat leapt onto my chest,' Jack explained. ‘And I dropped the candle.'

‘And then?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘We ran up the stairs and back to the street,' Scarlet said.

‘And you both saw this…thing?'

‘Well…'

‘What
exactly
did you see, Scarlet?'

‘To be precise, nothing. Jack was standing in the way.'

Mr Doyle harrumphed.

‘It
was
a monster,' Jack confirmed. ‘Or something very much like one. But it was
real.' Jack felt himself turning red. ‘It was big and, er, bulky with things that
looked like arms…and there might have been a head.'

Even Scarlet was trying to hide a smile. ‘So it could have been a monster, or it
may have been a mattress or—'

Jack raised a hand. ‘I get the idea. No-one believes me.'

‘I do not believe in monsters,' Mr Doyle said. ‘They belong in the same category
as ghosts, goblins and things that go bump in the night.'

‘Then why send us to Whitechapel?' Scarlet asked.

‘Because it will do you good to see for yourself that there is a logical explanation
for Toby's creature.'

‘As logical as there being no Atlantis?' Jack teased.

In their previous adventure, they had discovered the mythological city to be real.

Now it was Mr Doyle's turn to go red. ‘Anyway, there will be time to follow up on
your monster later. For now we will go to Lansmark Jail. I was successful in obtaining
photographs of the timer from Scotland Yard. We will pay Bruiser Sykes a visit, and
see if he recognises the maker.'

They had afternoon tea before heading to the balcony. On the way, they passed Isaac
Newton, Mr Doyle's echidna, and a new addition to the menagerie, Julius Caesar, a
green parrot from South America. It was a present from Gabrielle Smith, a friend
of theirs from the United States.

The parrot was not confined to a cage. Instead it had free rein of the apartment,
settling where it wished and turning up in the most inopportune places—it had landed
on Jack's head the previous day while he was in the bath.

Mr Doyle's airship, the
Lion's Mane
, was parked on the roof, its engine already stoked.
The airship was a thirty-foot craft made of timber and brass, with the emblem of
a lion and a number—
1887—
decorating the balloon.

The detective disengaged the docking clamps and they sailed high over London, joining
a line of airships, heading North.

The city is changing all the time
, Jack mused.
As are our lives.

For many years, Mr Doyle had believed his son, Phillip, had been killed in the war,
but during their
previous adventure, Phillip had been found alive
—
though much affected
by his terrible experience. He was now recovering with his wife and son at their
home in Harwich, and Mr Doyle went to visit them regularly.

It's not an easy world
, Jack thought.

He was remembering the streets of Whitechapel. It was so easy to forget that people
lived in such appalling conditions.

‘Everyone must do what they can,' Mr Doyle said. ‘But we are living in modern times.
I expect the next few years will see great advances in living conditions.'

‘I want to help those people,' Jack said. ‘But I don't know where to start.'

‘Everyone can do their bit,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Donate money to charities or books to
libraries. Even visiting an elderly neighbour can make a world of difference.

‘We can only help as far as we can reach. There are many social reformers trying
to bring about change.' He paused, bringing the
Lion's Mane
about to join another
line of airships. ‘I contribute quite a bit of money to an orphanage,' he said, conversationally.
‘It makes life better for the children there.'

It took a moment for Mr Doyle's words to sink in. ‘You don't mean…?'

‘Sunnyside Orphanage.'

Jack had been living in that gloomy place when Mr Doyle took him in as his apprentice.
Jack had not been back since, but he'd often wondered about the other orphans.

‘I didn't realise how bad conditions were,' Mr Doyle continued. ‘It was only after
I visited that I knew I had to help. You'll be pleased to hear that things have improved.
The children are better dressed and now enjoy three square meals a day.'

He gave Jack a wink.
Good old Mr Doyle
, Jack thought.

The airship coasted past the London Metrotower. Every major city on Earth had a metrotower,
stretching to the edge of space. From there, steam-powered spaceships facilitated
trade and transported people around the globe.

Scarlet had been combing her hair, but now she joined Jack at the window. ‘You know,
Jack, there was a Brinkie Buckeridge book,
The Adventure of the Running Table
, where
she went undercover in an orphanage.'

‘Really?'

‘It was a terrible place,' she said. ‘The children were made to eat rats for dinner.'
She looked concerned. ‘Did you have to eat rats? I'll completely understand if you
did.'

‘No! Not at all.'

‘You may have eaten one or two and not noticed.'

‘Scarlet, how would I not notice?'

‘Well, once you remove the tail, the hair and the claws, they probably look a bit
like a chicken.'

Jack groaned. ‘I don't know what chickens you've been eating,' he said, ‘but mine
usually have wings.'

‘It turned out the orphanage was actually a cover
for child slavery,' Scarlet continued.
‘The children were being forced to work twenty-three hours a day with only an hour
for sleep.'

‘Only an… Scarlet, how on earth could anyone survive on only one hour's sleep a night?'

Nodding sadly, Scarlet said, ‘They were very tired.' But then she brightened. ‘At
least the story ended well. The children now live on level twenty-three of Brinkie's
home, above the zoo and below the shooting range.'

The
Lion's Mane
coasted over the countryside until the prison, near the coast, came
into view.

Mr Doyle brought them down in a parking lot on the east side.

‘That's a nice view of the ocean,' Scarlet said.

‘I don't think the prisoners get to enjoy it,' Jack said. ‘They probably don't see
much at all.'

Heading to the front gate, Mr Doyle stopped. ‘I should give you some idea as to what
to expect. Lansmark Jail is a medium-security facility. More than a thousand inmates
are housed here, their convictions ranging from theft to murder. We will be meeting
Bruiser Sykes in the visitor's centre. You mustn't come into physical contact with
him, or any of the inmates, at any time.'

They entered the main gate. Mr Doyle was made to surrender his gun, Clarabelle, to
one of the desk clerks. After passing into another area, they joined with another
group of visitors. There were mothers and fathers, wives and children. A woman nursed
a baby. An elderly man, holding a Bible, prayed silently to himself.

‘It's a tragedy,' Mr Doyle sighed. ‘Even for the men who are incarcerated. A child
has so much potential ahead of them. It doesn't take too many wrong turns to lead
them here.'

A guard came out and explained the rules. No physical contact with the prisoners.
No shouting. No arguments. Anyone found breaking the rules would be ejected immediately.

The guard led the group to a metal door. The visitors trooped down a hallway as the
door behind them locked.

They keep all the areas contained
, Jack thought.
In case of an incident, they can
localise it.

When the next door opened, the group trailed into the visitors' room. Here, the tables
and chairs were bolted to the floor. Barred windows were set high up on the wall.

Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle each took a seat. It may have been sunny outside, but
it was cold in the jail. Jack shivered. Even Mr Doyle looked apprehensive as he took
out a piece of cheese, picked off the fluff and chewed it.

A distant bell rang three times. Then a barred door opened and the prisoners trooped
in. They all wore white overalls decorated with black arrowheads. While most men
went to their families, one lingered in the doorway, his eyes searching the room.
He was slim, with grey hair, and he reminded Jack of a hawk. Finally he spotted their
table and casually made his way over.

‘Ignatius Doyle,' Bruiser Sykes said, sitting opposite. ‘It's been a long time. And
these are your young assistants.'

Mr Doyle introduced them.

‘It's nice to see you're not alone in your old age,' Sykes said. ‘Getting older,
you need family.' He motioned to the prison. ‘This is my family home for the time
being. Until I get out.'

‘How much longer?'

‘Only five years. It'll fly by.'

Mr Doyle leant forward. ‘Why have you asked for me, Bruiser? You know the police
want your assistance to track down the bomber.'

‘I don't help coppers,' Sykes said, sitting back and looking relaxed. ‘That's not
how things are done. You know that.'

‘But you'll talk to me.'

‘You're not a copper.'

‘I assume you want something in exchange.'

Bruiser Sykes grinned, showing a row of small yellow teeth. ‘That's how business
works, Ignatius,' he said. ‘I do something and you do something in return.'

‘What do you want?'

‘Let me see the timer first.'

Mr Doyle laid the photographs flat on the table. Sykes examined them before nodding
thoughtfully. ‘I know whose work this is. No doubt about it.' His eyes narrowed.
‘But here's the deal. I want you to do some investigating for me.'

‘Really?' Mr Doyle raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn't know you were community-minded.'

‘I'm not,' Sykes said, sighing. ‘Do your young assistants know much about me?'

‘Not much.'

The criminal's eyes darted from Jack to Scarlet. ‘You're both nice young kids,' he
said. ‘A circus orphan and a kid whose father works in China.'

‘How—' Scarlet started.

‘Knowledge is power,' Sykes said. ‘You've both had some rough and tumble in your
lives, but you're on the straight and narrow. I didn't grow up the same way. There
was me and my two brothers—Charles and Ben. Our mum did her best, but we each went
our own ways. I started work early, made a lot of money fast.'

‘You mean you became a criminal,' Jack said.

‘An
entrepreneur
,' Sykes corrected him. ‘Charles left home early, got a job on a
merchant ship. He's doing okay for himself. But Ben's the one who makes me proud.
He was a good-looking bloke—and smart. I paid for his education. Made certain he
went to university. He became a doctor. Then he joined those Darwinists.'

Jack knew about the Darwinist League: they worked on the edge of medical science.
Most scientists operated within the regulations, helping to change the world with
their inventions. But others disregarded authority, breaking the laws of man and
God for profit rather than universal benefit.

‘He liked his work,' Sykes continued. ‘He said he was doing research. Real excited,
he was.'

‘What happened?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘One day he didn't turn up for work,' Sykes said, his face falling. ‘One of his Darwinist
friends went around
to his home and found everything closed up, neat and tidy. No
sign of a struggle or robbery. But he was gone.'

‘Have the police been informed?'

‘Oh, they went around to his house. Checked it out, but when they found he was related
to me…'

‘…they assumed he was also involved in a criminal enterprise.'

Bruiser Sykes nodded. ‘Ben was the best of us. His future was bright. He was really
going places. I have to know what happened to him. And you're the best in the business.
After all,' he added grimly, ‘you got me, didn't you?'

Mr Doyle turned to Jack and Scarlet. ‘Mr Sykes was wearing a pair of custom made
leather gloves when he murdered Peter Black, a stockbroker,' he explained. ‘The bloody
pattern from the gloves was as distinctive as any fingerprint.'