The Monster Within (5 page)

‘I still say I'm innocent.'

‘As you would.' Mr Doyle stroked his chin. ‘I will investigate the disappearance
of your brother, but I have another case I'm attending to at present.'

‘But Ben—'

‘I appreciate your concern, but I must complete my current investigation first.'

‘But then you'll search for Ben?'

Mr Doyle nodded. ‘I promise,' he said. ‘Although missing people can be notoriously
hard to locate, especially if they don't want to be found.'

‘But you'll do your best?'

‘I will.'

Sykes leant close. ‘Tick-Tock,' he said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

Sykes indicated the photographs. ‘The bloke who made this timepiece is Joe Tockly,'
he explained. ‘He's known as Tick-Tock in the business. He's top-notch.'

‘Are you sure?' Jack asked.

‘No doubt about it. Only one fella crafts a device like this. All the pieces are
handmade. It's as much a work of art as a bomb.'

‘How do we find him?' Scarlet asked.

‘He owns a house in Margate, but the last I heard he was retired and living in Barcelona.'

‘Spain?' Mr Doyle said. ‘I wonder what's brought him out of retirement.'

‘No idea.' Sykes gave Joe Tockly's addresses to Mr Doyle. ‘Don't mention my name.
Secrecy counts in this game.'

A bell chimed and people began saying their goodbyes. As Mr Doyle got to his feet,
Sykes reached out, grabbing his hand.

‘Remember your promise,' he said, darkly. ‘You know I don't like people who cross
me.'

‘I said I'd do my best and I will.'

After returning to Bee Street, Mr Doyle sent a message to Scotland Yard regarding
Joe Tockly. They received a reply as they sat down to dinner.

‘The Yard have already investigated Tockly,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Apparently he was one
of their first suspects.
A search was conducted of his home in Margate, but without
any success. They think he may even be dead.'

‘Bill Sykes said he might be in Spain,' Scarlet pointed out.

‘Scotland Yard doesn't have any jurisdiction in Spain,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Being independent
investigators, that's where we can help.'

Mr Doyle asked them to pack. As Jack and Scarlet loaded their bags onto the
Lion's
Mane,
Gloria appeared with another message for Mr Doyle. He read it grimly.

‘I just had some news from Lansmark Jail.'

‘What is it?' Scarlet said.

‘It's Bruiser Sykes. He's been found dead in his cell. A suspected heart attack.'
Mr Doyle gazed at their astonished faces. ‘It's an amazing coincidence, wouldn't
you say?'

‘How could it be anything else?' Scarlet asked.

‘There are ways and means of doing things in prison. An autopsy will be held into
his death, but I'm sure he was poisoned.'

‘What will we do?' Jack asked.

‘Exactly what we were already planning,' Mr Doyle said. ‘We're going to Spain.' His
face darkened. ‘The Valkyrie Circle have influence in many places—let's hope Spain
is not one of them.'

CHAPTER SIX

‘Barcelona,' Jack said, shaking his head in amazement. ‘I've never seen anything
like it.'

‘I don't think there
is
anything else like it,' Scarlet said.

The
Lion's Mane
cut across the night sky, a thousand city lights below. It had taken
several days to reach Spain. On the way, Mr Doyle had told them to expect an extraordinary
metropolis. He was not mistaken. Not a single building was made of straight lines.
Everything was curved and twisted, constructed from iron, stained glass and ceramics,
masses of copper and bronze.

The entire city had been influenced by the work of one man: Antoni Gaudi.

‘You see what I mean,' Mr Doyle said, leaning close to the window, ‘when I say Mr
Gaudi was inspired by nature.'

‘I've never seen anything in nature like this,' Jack said.

‘But I'm sure you'll agree that nothing in nature is straight. Everything is contoured
and bent.'

Mr Doyle was right. The more Jack stared down at the city, the more it reminded him
of a dark forest, mysterious and infinite.

‘Have you been here before?' he asked Mr Doyle.

‘Interesting you should ask. I once investigated a case involving a headless doll,
a rubber pony and a pair of dancing chickens. It began when—'

‘What's that building down there?' Scarlet interrupted.

‘It's a church. The
Sagrada Família
. Half a mile in length, it is Gaudi's crowning
achievement. There is nothing else on Earth quite like it—and never will be again,
I'll wager.'

‘Despite coming here to investigate a crime,' Scarlet said, ‘I must admit I can't
wait to look around.'

‘Sightseeing?' Mr Doyle smiled. ‘I'm sure there'll be time for that.'

He brought the airship down into the heart of the city, parking in a small lot adjacent
to a hotel. After disappearing into the lobby for a few minutes, Mr Doyle returned,
smiling. ‘I have found our accommodation,' he said. ‘The price is reasonable and
the hotel appears clean.'

Unloading their bags, Scarlet began to tell Jack about another Brinkie Buckeridge
novel. ‘Brinkie's stayed in all sorts of hotels and boarding houses over the years,'
she said. ‘Ranging from excellent to awful. She once had to sleep in an oven for
three months while monitoring a suspect.'

‘An oven! But how did she stretch out?'

‘She couldn't, but discomfort is the name of the game when dealing with evildoers,'
Scarlet said happily. ‘I aspire to be her one day.'

‘You should start practicing by sleeping in the oven at Bee Street. Might get warm
if we try to cook in it, though.'

Their hotel room was on the first floor. As Mr Doyle had said, the facilities were
basic, but clean. The walls were cream-coloured and the doors led to small balconies
that overlooked the street.

‘This will do,' Mr Doyle said, looking about. ‘Yes, this will do quite nicely.' He
ordered meals for everyone, which arrived minutes later. ‘This is
Pa Amb Tomàquet
.
A local specialty.'

‘Really?' Jack said. ‘It looks like squashed tomato on bread.'

‘It
is
.'

Jack tasted it and decided it was delicious. Later, as he lay in bed, he listened
to the city. There were still sounds seeping in from outside: people singing, a man
and a woman having an argument, someone playing a mournful tune on a guitar.

Jack woke the next morning to Mr Doyle knocking on his door. ‘Are you coming, my
boy? We're breakfasting at a local café before continuing our search for Mr Tockly.'

As soon as they hit the streets, Jack sneezed. ‘I thought Spain was supposed to be
hot,' he said, grateful he was wearing his green coat.

‘It warms up later in the year,' Mr Doyle said.

They found a tiny café, tucked away from the main road. Small square tables jutted
up against timber-panelled walls. Marble columns ran from floor to ceiling. Drinks
and food were served from a bar to one side.

Churros
, a type of long donut, arrived on triangular plates. They were also delicious.
Mr Doyle chose to drink coffee instead of his usual cup of tea. ‘This is
café con
leche
,' he said. ‘It contains a shot of espresso coffee and is topped with hot milk.'

Jack and Scarlet stuck to hot chocolate.

Mr Doyle spoke impeccable Spanish. He knew twelve languages, and was also learning
Swahili and Inuit. He chatted to the waitress as if he was a local.

Though it was still early, the narrow Barcelona streets were crowded. Jack wondered
if the city ever slept. Horse-drawn carts were everywhere. Men wore simple pants
and overhanging shirts of earthen colours. Shawls were common among the women. What
Jack didn't see much of were steamcars.

‘Many people are still living like their ancestors,' Mr Doyle said.

‘It doesn't seem very efficient,' Scarlet said. ‘And the city doesn't even have a
metrotower.'

‘Must every place be at the cutting edge of technology?'

After breakfast, Mr Doyle produced a map. ‘Joe Tockly's last known address was in
the suburb of Horta, a short distance from here,' he said. ‘I suggest we take a steamcab,
if we can find one.'

But there were no cabs on the street, so they ended up catching a bus. As the vehicle
ambled through uneven streets, Jack watched the scenery flash by. Every building
was an apartment block, most a dozen storeys high, painted cream, orange or burnt-red.

But Gaudi's influence was everywhere—none of the walls were straight, and they were
all stippled to look like skin or scales. Many resembled tortoise shells, others
had a harlequin design, with brightly coloured diamonds that ran from the street
to the rooftops. Even the windows were irregular: some square, others round, oval
or kidney-shaped—or some variation in between. Roofs were blue, red, orange or gold.
Drainpipes had even been made to look like scaly snakes.

Then there were strange objects that seemed to serve no purpose at all. Huge brass
bubbles covered some walls, others were ribbed with patterns that looked like seaweed.
Among all this were mosaics of lizards, birds, elephants and tigers, some of them
bleeding, freeform, from walls to streets.

‘I feel like I'm hallucinating,' Jack said.

‘It's quite an experience,' Mr Doyle agreed, peering up at the endless menagerie
of shapes. ‘Not at all like London.'

‘Brinkie's boyfriend, Dudley, hallucinated once,' Scarlet said. ‘Someone slipped
a potion into his hot chocolate. He spent three days wandering the streets of Rome
alternately thinking he was Edward I, a bumblebee and woody shrub.'

The bus eventually reached the suburb of Horta. This was a quieter area for families.
Mr Doyle, after consulting his map, led them down a street to a boarding house at
the end. A mosaic of a night sky decorated the front, and the windows were crescent
moons pointing in different directions.

‘Doesn't look a lot like Bee Street,' Jack said.

Mr Doyle rang the bell. A lady answered, identifying herself as Elena. Mr Doyle spoke
to her for a moment in Spanish before she offered to speak English.

‘I know the man you mean,' she said. ‘He said his name was Jones.'

‘Is he here now?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘Not for long time. Some men take him away.'

‘Against his will?'

She looked fearfully up and down the street. ‘They did not seem like good men,' she
whispered. ‘Mr Jones was quiet. Keep to himself. There was argument. The other men
took him in a steamcar.'

‘Hmm,' Mr Doyle said. ‘May we see his room? We are worried for his safety.'

Elena was reluctant, but then Mr Doyle suggested the authorities might become involved
and she became more accommodating.

Tockly's room was on the second floor.

‘The men also came and took his things,' Elena said. ‘That was later. Then I think
someone else has been here too.'

‘Really?'

‘One day, I came home and found the front door—how do you say it—ajar?'

After Elena excused herself back down the stairs, they looked around the empty room,
checking the wardrobe, chest of drawers and under the bed. The writing pad on the
bedside table was blank.

Mr Doyle peered into a corner, took out his goggles and examined some refuse.

‘It looks like Tockly
was
here,' he said. ‘These are strips of wire, obviously used
for bomb making.' He checked the bottom of a small bin. ‘And here are some cogs for
the timing devices.'

Scarlet looked at the writing pad. ‘Someone was using this,' she said. ‘You can still
see the impressions.'

Mr Doyle took out a pencil and ran it lightly across the paper. ‘
Angel's Bar, Ciutat
Vella
,' he read. ‘I wonder where that is?'

As they left the building, Mr Doyle asked Elena about the bar.

‘A dangerous place, senor,' she said. ‘Many fights in that part of the city.'

‘Did Mr Jones ever go there?'

‘I don't think so,' she said.

‘Do you think he was in hiding?'

‘Maybe,' she shrugged. ‘He say he is retired. Never have visitors.'

She had little more to offer, so they said farewell and moved on. Since it was lunchtime,
they had a small meal of chicken, sausage and seafood at a nearby restaurant.

Paella.
Jack had never tasted anything like it.

‘What do you make of all this?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘It's lovely,' he said. ‘Very tasty.'

‘I meant the case.'

‘Oh.'

‘It seems odd that Tockly has vanished,' Scarlet said. ‘He may even have been kidnapped.'

‘Should we tell the police?' Jack asked.

‘I'm not sure there's much we could tell them,' Mr Doyle said. ‘We can't even be
sure he
was
Joe Tockly. Whoever he was, he certainly wanted to protect his anonymity.'

‘So what will we do now?'

‘We would seem to have only one lead. I suggest we make our way to Ciutat Vella.'

They boarded another bus and crossed the city. It was late in the day by the time
they reached the district on the east side, near the sea. The buildings here were
older and free of the Gaudi influence.

Leaving the bus, they followed an avenue known as La Rambla.

After several minutes, they reached Angel's Bar, which was tucked between a pharmacy
and a fruit shop, both now closed. Mr Doyle pushed the front door open and they stepped
inside.

Smoke filled the air. Several patrons were slouched in booths—they looked like they
hadn't seen the light of day for weeks.