Dark Harbour: The Tale of the Soul Searcher (13 page)

When he arrived upstairs and the doors opened, Floyd saw the grand mahogany door with the shiny gold plate with Henry’s name on it. He stepped towards it but only got halfway when he heard a voice.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’

Floyd turned round. It was Henry’s secretary, a woman called Aurelia. She was late-thirties but wore clothes as if she was still in her twenties and had never had any children. She was unfortunately pretty and thought that her beauty was a power that could be used on everyone. It wasn’t the case with Floyd though who ignored her and carried on towards the door.

‘Mr Floyd? Henry is busy at the moment. You can’t go in there.’

Now she was getting downright irritating. She wasn’t worthy of a reply though. No point in making her think she could carry any authority at all. Instead, Floyd strolled over to her desk and towered before her. She was wearing a suit jacket and blouse, and showing off a lot of cleavage. Not that Floyd stood staring at it. She was powerless to him. In fact, Floyd found her to be quite pathetic.

‘Mr Floyd…’

At that point, Floyd tipped over her coffee mug and the thick liquid poured all over the papers on her desk, eventually spilling onto her thighs. She immediately stood up, gasped, and held both arms aloft in stupefaction.

Floyd walked back to the mahogany door and opened it without knocking. As he walked into the office, Henry’s eyes immediately shifted over to him. It was as if he was looking through him, though, and Henry soon stared emptily at a random object on his desk as he carried on with his telephone conversation.

Henry’s office was overly grand: paint that looked like it had been applied only yesterday and a lush royal red carpet that, knowing Henry, was probably the exact same cut of material that the Queen had in her study.

The large desk and his leather chair with the tall back seemed to dwarf him. He probably redecorated every couple of years, always making sure that he made a good impression. Or perhaps surrounding himself with new things was his way of not having anything around him that reminded him of the past.

There was one thing in the office that did not look fresh, however, and that was Henry himself. Floyd looked him over. It had been about a month since he’d last seen him, but every time he did see him again he always looked to have aged. The lines on his face were even more pronounced, and the silver hairs on his head had multiplied. His ageing wasn’t as severe as what happened to the guy in
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
who ‘chose poorly’ but he brought that particular character to Floyd’s mind. It was probably an indication of the poor choices that Henry had made in his life.

The old Seraph looked quite older than the fifty-six years of age he’d reached, but there were plenty of reasons for that. Any length of time spent in the fast lane would take a toll. Especially if one was not able to handle life in the fast lane, which was the life that the two of them had lived in during the days of the Network. Much like a divorced couple who’d spent too much time together, they’d eventually seen into each other’s soul and not liked what they’d seen.

Their new relationship, based mutually on loathing, occasionally on repulsion, and mainly on rivalry, had existed this way for the past twenty years or so. The reason for the breakdown of respect was down to Henry. Plainly and simply, it was all his fault, the screw-up that he was.

As Henry continued yammering, Floyd impatiently hovered nearby trying to speed him up. Just as he was about to plonk himself in the empty chair and put his feet up on the desk, Floyd’s attention was suddenly grabbed by the display of pictures on the wall to his right.

His eyes opened wide as he mentally cursed himself for not thinking of this earlier. How could he have forgotten about Henry’s monument to his search for the legendary Akasa Stone? Photographs of local churches, photocopies of old letters, portraits of aristocrats, Henry had created this display as though he was some sort of historian. Or maybe he’d created it so that he would have at least something to show for the many fruitless years he’d spent searching for the stone.

Although he’d been inside Henry’s office plenty of times in the past, Floyd had never really taken any interest in this display that had grown steadily over the years. Then again, he’d never had any reason to take interest in it before. But now things were a lot different.

As he walked over to the wall, a picture of Dempringham Priory immediately caught his eye. It triggered a vague memory in Floyd’s mind. Was there a grave here that Henry had wanted to exhume? Had he believed that someone was buried with the Akasa Stone? But who? One of the pirates from the
Tatterdemalion
?

It was time Floyd tried to remember all the things he’d been told about Henry’s efforts. Now Floyd was in the same game, he had to know everything Henry knew. And more.

Floyd looked at the top of the display where a small but magnetising picture hung above everything else. It was a sketch of a tatty looking necklace. Handmade wooden beads formed the main cord, and dangling from the front of it was a shiny purple gemstone. The stone was a strange shape, almost like a tear drop, but curved as well.

He knew what he was looking at. Deep within, he felt an odd sensation. Why was he so drawn to this stone? Why was he so drawn to even just a
picture
of it?

The room went silent as the handset clicked back on the receiver.

‘Why are you looking for this stone, Henry?’ Floyd asked him as he continued to stare at the picture.

It wasn’t exactly an easy question for Henry to answer, and he didn’t even know if he should bother articulating to the estranged colleague before him the reasons behind his searching.

Henry was very good at being put on the spot and answering random big questions. He’d been blessed with a sharp mind and could be craftily eloquent if needed to be. Even though he’d worked within the Dark Harbour underground, it wouldn’t have been too much of a twist of imagination to see Henry as a priest in some parallel universe, such was his mastery of elocution. His tones were crisp and rounded, each word delivered with delicate preciseness. And feeling. He was the quintessential gentleman, and always dressed as though he was on his way to some important soirée. But really Henry was going nowhere. He was more like a gentleman on board the
Titanic
, smoking cigars and listening to the band, all dressed up ready to sink.

‘Salvation,’ was Henry’s eventual reply. ‘Silas wasn’t the only one who needed to send out an S.O.S.’

That was all he needed to say. He doubted that Floyd would understand any of it, but that was why he gave such an answer. However, there was one part of it that Floyd did understand.

‘
Captain
Silas?’ Floyd asked him.

It was Silas who’d captained the doomed
Tatterdemalion
, and who’d gone down with the ship when it crashed into the rocks.

‘Yes,’ Henry replied, uncomfortably surprised that Floyd had heard of him.

‘Didn’t do him much good, though, did it?’

‘I suppose not. But there’s no point in having the Akasa Stone if you’re not going to put it to good use.’

‘But you believe you’re worthy of owning it, do you?’ Floyd put to him as he approached the desk.

Henry looked him hard in the eye, feeling as though he was missing something. ‘Why your sudden interest in the Akasa Stone, Floyd? Why would someone like you hold it in such regard all of a sudden?’

Floyd smiled as he sat down before him. ‘Everyone else seems to like this thing. Everyone wants to get their hands on it. And you know what I figured, my old matey?’

‘What’s that?’ Henry asked as he rubbed his baggy eyes.

‘I figured that I want in on the game as well.’

Henry’s hand slid over his face and he left it covering his mouth.

‘I just came to tell you that it’s time you threw in the towel,’ Floyd went on. ‘Like everything else, you’re going to be coming in second place to me.’

Henry removed his hand and laughed. ‘Well, I’m really up against it now, aren’t I? Ladies and gentlemen, Grimsby Town have just entered the Premier League!’

‘Laugh all you want.’

‘You wouldn’t even know where to start. You’re too late anyway,’ Henry countered, immediately wishing he hadn’t said the second sentence.

Floyd’s mind did not register it anyway. He had other things that he needed to get out. ‘So, they weren’t your men I had to deal with the other day?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Floyd took a moment to try to read his face. He figured that Henry was actually telling the truth and that Devlan was right; they weren’t Halo of Fires members who’d stepped onto their boat that evening, as much as he’d hoped that they were.

‘Run into a bit of trouble, did you?’ Henry asked as he leaned back in his chair. ‘You should know what this game is about. You should know the other players. Maybe you would think differently if you did,’ he lectured to him like a priest delivering a sermon.

‘They weren’t much of a concern in the end. Devlan saw to them very easily.’

‘Devlan… Where there’s one, there’s the other. So where have you got him looking for it?’

‘You know, I’m quite surprised you never decided to search for the
Tatterdemalion
.’

‘You’re looking for that old thing? Now I know you really are wasting your time.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Why would it still be at the bottom of the sea if people have seen it in the town? Answer me that one,’ Henry fired at him, his voice louder than he wanted it to be.

Floyd stood up and looked out of the grand window next to Henry’s desk. Above the promenade he could see the expanse of brine and knew that Devlan was out there somewhere. Maybe they’d even found the ship by now.

‘I know I’m new to this game, but you know what? There’s something I was always blessed with which you never had, Henry. Luck. And maybe I got something for you, another picture for you to put on your wall over there. Something to remind you of the man who beat you to it.’

Henry tried to act disinterested but really he was intrigued. He always was when it came to anything to do with the Akasa Stone.

‘What’s that?’

‘One thing first. The picture up there. The one of the stone. Where did you get it?’

‘From a book in the town library. George Styleman L’Estrange. He spent a long time searching for the stone early part of last century. Everyone who knows about the Akasa Stone knows about L’Estrange.’

Floyd rummaged into the inside pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out a Polaroid photograph and tossed it onto Henry’s desk. As he picked it up, Floyd turned and left the room.

Once Henry had put his glasses on, it was very clear what he was looking at in the photograph. It was the steering helm from a ship. It was missing a few spokes and consumed by rot but that was not surprising considering that it was from an old vessel. He knew that it was a very old vessel indeed, for there was no mistaking what the lettering around the rim spelt out:
‘Tatterdemalion
’.

Chapter 3.6

As night descended, another life form ventured into the bleak no man’s land of Eastgate. Blending in almost seamlessly with the darkness was Vladimir, his pallid complexion the only distinguishable feature in the blackness.

Not far along from
The Cheshire Cat
was a little jetty that led to the back of
Clarence Hotel
. It was the route the Halo of Fires operatives took to get to Henry’s office, leading towards a fire escape stairway on the outside of the building. Vladimir made his way up there.

When he stepped inside and walked through the mahogany door, he saw that the light was on at the desk, but Henry was not sitting at it. He was standing in front of his wall display staring up at the picture of the Akasa Stone. He’d most probably been there for an hour or more, lost in his thoughts. He often did that.

In his hand he held a hip flask and when he noticed Vladimir standing at the end of the room, he replaced the cap on it and slid it into his jacket pocket.

‘What’s up?’ Vladimir asked him as he sat down in the chair at Henry’s desk, ready for their Friday night meeting.

Henry remained rooted to the spot as he stared at the picture on the wall like someone who’d gone up on Paul McKenna’s stage and been hypnotised into acting like a praying Jew.

It was Vladimir’s next question that brought him back into the room.

‘What’s this?’

Henry lowered his head to the floor. He knew what he was referring to. ‘A piece of the puzzle.’

‘Who gave you it?’

Henry opened his mouth to respond but then stopped himself. He knew that saying the name would only get Vladimir worked up.

‘Floyd?’ Vladimir asked. ‘It’s Floyd, isn’t it? He’s found the
Tatterdemalion
?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Want us to keep an eye on him? See exactly what he’s up to?’

‘Any excuse to meddle in his affairs. Vladimir, I’ve never met anyone who was so clear about who they did and did not like.’