Dark Harbour: The Tale of the Soul Searcher (40 page)

‘Anyway, Maristow, let’s get on with things. See my rides around you?’ Floyd raised both of his arms in pride. ‘Which one would you like to go on? I shall let you pick how you meet your death.’

‘You crazy son of a whore,’ Henry said. It was a useless attempt at some sort of parting shot and he knew it before all the words had left his tongue.

‘She was no whore,’ Floyd replied factually. ‘A slut for sure but she didn’t charge.’

While Floyd was rambling, Henry reached into his coat pocket. It was one of Alan Hammond’s tenets that members of the Fires should only use guns as an absolute last resort. But right now, Henry knew it was time to bring out the Koch P7. He knew that it would serve him much better than any insults he had to fire.

Before he could even aim the gun at him, Floyd brought out his own gun. With a swift, well-honed skill that was a million times more impressive than spinning yo-yos, he fired at Henry and nicked him on the knuckle. Henry dropped the gun and fell to his knees as he clutched his hand to contain the blood.

Floyd slowly approached, the gun pointed at Henry’s head. ‘Now then, Maristow. Time for you to choose your death.’

Chapter 14.8

The sombrely clad vigilante appeared to be in a trance as he led Michael through the saturated town. Occasionally he would pause on a street corner, unsure which way to tread next, but whenever Michael asked him if he knew where he was going, Vladimir would distractedly mutter that yes he did in fact know where he was going thank you very much.

The prying young journalist dared to ask Vladimir some searching questions, but none of them was a key to Vladimir’s brain, none could even provoke the slightest outpouring or unburdening of emotional affliction that might reside behind the vigilante’s black button eyes. By the time they’d crossed London Road and headed past the council offices, Michael gave up on his probing.

Beyond that stiff and distant face, Vladimir was actually thinking back to those days in his other life when he used to be Jeremy, those painful memories that had been stirred up within his impenetrable vault-like mind. He thought in particular of that day when he sat at the television playing with his action figures while Simon was in the next room playing Columbo.

Simon may have made Jeremy anxious, but Vladimir looked back on it differently. His older brother knew that something had to be done and so had tried to take action. His nosiness and perseverance had actually given Jeremy some invaluable information.

Alan and Henry would have known who’d killed Ulric and Simon. Or rather, they would have known for whom the killer worked. What they didn’t know, what they never bothered to imagine, was that the young Jeremy knew this as well. They’d probably spared Vladimir the truth, for fear that one day he’d seek revenge against the one who lurked behind the shoulder of this child killer.

But thanks to the feisty Simon who’d rummaged through Ulric Tuckwell’s desk and found that letter, Jeremy had heard those mysterious three initials with which the letter had ended: T.H.M. Vladimir was nine years old when he’d eventually worked out what those initials stood for. He was far through the metamorphosis process by then, his fair hair slowly darkening into the heavy black crop he had on his head now, colourless pigment flooding into his hardened eyes. It turned out he never did get round to advancing on to his brother’s comic books.

He would overhear Alan and Henry sometimes talking about a certain person in the underworld, and had come to understand that Henry had in fact worked for him at one point. Vladimir eventually put the pieces together one day to work out that T.H.M. stood for a name that, when spoken, usually made people bristle with fear: The Harbour Master.

For Vladimir, the image that forever burned away in his mind was that hourglass of blood constantly telling him that time was slipping away. Vladimir’s prime search was always for that man who was tattooed with an image of that deadly arachnid. Alan had vowed to help Vladimir find this murderer, and up until his passing he had done so.

He’d never made any promises about searching out The Harbour Master though. This would be Vladimir’s second task once he’d exterminated the black widow, a task that he’d kept to himself. Not even Henry or Jake knew about that one.

The Harbour Master was quite a different matter, but Vladimir didn’t fear facing
him
, didn’t fear the unknown. He would deal with
him
somehow. Whatever
his
feud with Ulric Tuckwell was about, Vladimir intended to find out. He was accepting of the fact that, no matter how much he loved his grandfather, there was no telling how much trouble the old boozer had got himself into. Would he have caused so much trouble that The Harbour Master would have arranged for his termination? Or was the black widow man out proving his own point and just got carried away?

It had to have been the case with poor Simon. The feud was nothing to do with him. He was just an innocent bystander dragged into these dreadful circumstances, and Vladimir’s heart had pulsed with a vengeance-seeking beat ever since he’d seen Simon on the beach that day… stabbed… killed… murdered.

By that evil bastard. That knife-wielding demon who would one day discover that his remaining life could be made more tortuous than any punishing realm of fire and damnation. Now Vladimir was the karmic angel, searching for the sinner, waiting and waiting to burn the black widow with all the wrath and all the hate that had been ignited within him.

Vladimir’s left hand began to sting again and he realised he’d been clenching his fist as he walked along the pavement. He relaxed his fingers and saw more discolouring of thin blood on his white bandages under the fiery glow of the streetlight.

He paused again. Michael stopped with him and waited for him in noisy silence. Vladimir could practically hear his impatient thoughts.

‘How do you know them?’ Vladimir asked.

‘Larry and Eddie? I live with them.’

‘I guess that was awkward then. When…’

‘Yeah. You desperadoes are always giving me a headache.’

‘What about your other friend? Daniel Adams. Has he stayed away from Stella?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Vladimir sighed and shook his head.

‘Why?’ Michael asked, even though he wasn’t interested in that. He immediately refocused the subject: ‘So why Vladimir? Why that name?’

‘The Seraphs gave it to me.’

‘The Seraphs?’

Down a dirty road ahead was Frawley Holt Industrial Park, a cold and soulless area of town that smelt of burnt vegetables. Vladimir gazed around as a couple of cars sloshed through the puddles on the main road. Michael wrapped his arms around himself while he waited for Vladimir to figure out where they were going next. He was cold, but it seemed the continuing rainfall couldn’t soak him any further.

‘How do you know where to go?’ Michael asked.

‘Do you always ask so many questions?’

‘It just looks like you’re making up this merry stroll as we go along.’

‘You want me to find your friends. I’m doing that.’

‘Is there a trail of breadcrumbs I’ve missed somewhere?’

Vladimir’s piercing eyes stared up the road ahead, like a soaring owl that had seen a mouse stir in the fields below.

‘He’s being held in one of the units.’

‘Who? Both of them?’

‘Yeah. When we break in there and find them, I want you to take him away. You have to take Larry and Eddie, and get them the hell out of there. Take them to hospital or whatever. Then I’ll do the tidying up.’

‘Okay. You think they’ll be… you know… hurt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s holding them?’

‘Someone who’s soon going to be very sorry for what he’s done.’

‘You’re going to kill him?’

‘Now, look. I don’t want any coppers turning up here. You got that?’

‘I’m just going in there to get my friends. And you know what? Don’t expect them to turn up to work again tomorrow.’

‘It was their choice. I didn’t make them do anything.’

‘Yeah, rubbish.’

‘Are we going to stand around arguing? It’s your friends in there.’

‘You’re the one leading the way, Jeremy.’

Vladimir carried on walking. Silently Michael walked in his pale shadow.

Chapter 14.9

The freak had disappeared again. One moment he was there with those razorblade claws, the next moment he was flying off into the dark. Jake looked around, searching for the two orbs of smouldering ember but only the dead eyes of wooden horses stared back at him.

Jake had never been so tattered and bloody before in his life. But he was holding up. Just. In the Network he’d studied under the very best. The Harbour Master had insisted on it. Teachers who would test your strength and endurance far beyond what a sane mind could handle. No one in this town was more equipped to handle the monster Devlan.

He felt Devlan’s claws sinking into his neck once more as the monster pounced on him. The gargantuan Power shook him off as he fell to the ground for the hundredth time. Grazes all over. He scampered to his feet just as Devlan was finding his. A quick swipe caught Devlan in the chin. Another right hook caught Devlan round the jaw and he stumbled backwards. It was a firm strike; he’d stunned him. Jake should be making the most of Devlan’s daze but exhaustion was creeping in.

No matter how hard he’d gone at him, Devlan fought back with equal strength. Doubt now seeped into his mind; the fear had done so from the start. But Jake had to keep going. Jake never lost. Everyone knew it. Why didn’t Devlan?

As Jake raised his fist, he saw the blood dribbling from his knuckles, dripping onto the ground below as it mixed with the rainwater. He charged at Devlan who gathered his senses and rolled out of the way of the oncoming warrior. Jake kicked him but it was sloppy. It wasn’t how he’d been taught to attack. How his teachers would be frowning.

Devlan clambered onto the platform of the gallopers. The chomping faces of the garish wooden horses watched as Jake followed him. Devlan came at him again and Jake staggered into the centre control box. As he fumbled to his feet, fairy lights flickered on, the horses slowly began bobbing up and down, and the haunting sound of the band organ filled the air.

I do like to stroll along the Prom! Prom! Prom! Where the brass band plays Tiddley-on-pom-pom!

As the ride began to spin, Jake threw the monster off him and they both collapsed to the floor beneath the hooves of the springing horses. Jake noticed there was also a bizarre looking cockerel galloping amongst the troop, yet he was worried for himself for even noticing it. Where was his focus?

‘Give up yet?’ Devlan panted.

‘Still standing, aren’t I?’ Jake replied as he writhed on the floor.

‘You can’t kill me, Jake. Just walk away. Save yourself.’

‘You’re a sick murderer.’

‘And what are you? Nothing but a brainless mercenary.’

‘People change.’

‘You were the same with The Harbour Master as you are with Maristow. Same old dog, just a different kennel.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Look at you. You’re an animal.’

Jake got to his feet again. Devlan did the same.

‘Fuck, you’re mouthy, Devlan. What’s up? Nerves?’

And there’s lots of girls beside, I should like to be beside. Beside the seaside! Beside the sea.

The rain drummed down on the roof of the gallopers. Devlan’s red eyes glared unblinkingly back at him.

‘Sensing defeat has finally found you?’ Jake asked.

‘It’s found me before.’

Jake smiled. ‘Took a beating, did you?’

‘Yeah. So I know you’re nowhere close.’

‘Well, well. No one ever told me.’

‘Because after a hundred years most people are no longer around to tell the story. But yeah, I was once a cocky bastard like you. We had a big problem back then. Something that would make you Fires go screaming home to mummy. But that was a time when even I cared about making a difference. So I faced it. I stood up to him, the only one who would.’

‘Who?’

‘The Night Shiner. The one you
think
I am. I tell you if I was, you’d already be dead by now.’

‘Apparently he isn’t around to see if that’s true.’

‘For now. Still you idiots have been mixing me up with him ever since. After I tried to help this town but then they…’

‘Then they what?’

‘Who cares?’

‘So you’re not indestructible. Just wait till this gets out.’

‘Jake, trust me. It won’t’

Devlan sprang forward at the bleeding Power like a deranged jack-in-the-box, his mouth wide open and his claws fanned out. Jake was too slow for him, too relaxed from Devlan’s story-time, and he fell against one of the wooden horses, crashing through it, losing his footing on the edge of the platform, falling. On the puddled tarmac he smacked his head.

The salty rain fell into his eyes and blurred his vision of those two demonic eyes hovering over him. They burned like brake lights on a car. Slowing, stopping, the end of the journey. His vision began to fade.