The Osiris Ritual (24 page)

Veronica had been warned about Knox, of course, in her briefings about Newbury, when Her Majesty and her closest aides had been at pain to describe the horrors that the man had committed in the name of progress, and their need to ensure that Newbury did not follow a similar path. Knox had become obsessed with the occult and a desire to achieve extended life, and he pursued the cause with little concern for morality or human suffering. He saw himself as a progressive, the man who would final y learn to wed science with the arcane. That path had led him away from the Empire, and despite the best efforts of Her Majesty and her extended network of agents, he had not been seen for over two years. He was a danger — yes —but he was also an embarrassment, a worm that had turned, a betrayer, deep in the bosom of the Empire. Victoria wished to make an example of him.

Veronica watched him warily. Knox had almost finished gathering up the scattered artefacts and papers into his bag. He glanced over his shoulder at Veronica, a wry smile on the curve of his lips.

“So, tel me of Sir Maurice. I understand he’s quite the dashing man about town?” Veronica remained silent. Knox laughed. “I understand also that his taste for narcotics is dwarfed only by his taste for occult literature. I should dearly like to meet the fellow.” This was a taste of the charming Knox again, the gentleman. Veronica understood that he lived by a code. But unlike Newbury it was a code of his own devising, and not one instil ed by an innate sense of right and wrong. It was a code driven by insanity and a desire for self-perpetuation. Watching him now, Veronica could hardly believe the stunning outburst of violence he had demonstrated just a short while before. Her cheek, however, was a stinging reminder. She glared at him.

“Sir Maurice is twice the man you ever were, and twice the agent too.”

Knox laughed. “What loyalty the man inspires! How interesting. One imagines he keeps you by his side like a pet dog, there to compliment his ego with doe-eyed looks and pretty frocks.

Personally, I imagine you to be far prettier on the inside.” He paused. “I should enjoy examining your brain.” Knox moved around the table to place his medicine bag by the door. “I’m sure it would pain Sir Maurice terribly to know of your current predicament, my dear Miss Hobbes. Indeed, if I had more time, perhaps I could have made more of the circumstances. A shame.” He gave a smal , polite cough into his fist. “I must admit that, in the end, I’m disappointed, Miss Hobbes. I’d heard great tales of your derring-do, of your fiery passion. I’d been led to believe that you were perhaps even a worthy opponent. Regrettably, I find you ful of righteous indignation. You are nothing but another insipid young woman, a prim and proper society girl, who finds herself afraid and out of her depth.

What has become of the young woman who aided in the retrieval of the Persian Teardrop from Milan? Who I brought an end to the kil ing spree of the Liverpool Witch? Pushing papers behind a desk in a museum? What would your sister Amelia say of your decline?” He shook his head.

“Victoria used to know better.”

Veronica attempted to lurch forward, but succeeded only in toppling onto her side, prone on the floor. “Do not speak of my sister.” The words were weighted with vehemence.

Knox was laughing now. “Idle threats, Miss Hobbes. Idle threats. It surprises me that Amelia did not find it appropriate to warn you of this little encounter. Does she not speak to you of the future?”

Veronica’s eyes widened. How did this man, this terrible man, know so much about her and her sister? She watched him as he crossed the room, col ecting the elbow-length leather gloves from where they rested on the workbench. His eyes flashed, and Veronica knew that her time was almost up. With al her might she struggled against the bonds that held her. But she knew it was useless.

Knox had her now, and before long, she would be consigned to the sorry heap in the corner with the other dead girls. She wondered whether she, too, would have a smal hole burrowed through the centre of her forehead. The thought made her shudder. She was close to panic, her soundless lips frozen wide with fear.

Knox pulled one of the gloves over his wrist and wriggled his fingers dramatically. Just as he was about to fol ow suit with the other hand, there was a loud crash from somewhere above them.

Knox looked up, as if he somehow expected to be able to see through the ceiling to whatever it was that had made the noise above. Veronica assumed it must have been Alfonso, treading on the creaking boards of the stage. Knox, however, became suddenly flustered. He peeled the glove from his fingers and threw it instead on the table, a frustrated look on his face. There was another bang and a muffled shout. Veronica was unable to identify the words, or the voice. But something about the situation had startled Knox. His plans had changed.

Knox snatched up a dirty rag from amongst his belongings and approached her. His expression remained fixed. He intended to gag her. Veronica forced her jaw shut and turned he r head away from him. But to Knox, evidently an old hand, it was a matter of moments before he was able to force his lingers roughly inside her cheeks and prise her mouth open long enough to shove the rag inside. She did her best to spit it out, to push it out with her tongue, but it was no use. She choked back its oily, dirty fibres.

Knox offered her one last, sneering look, his milky-grey eye flicking over her face, then turned and stepped through the door disappearing into the passageway beyond.

N ewbury dropped to one knee, running his hands around the edges of the open hatch in the stage. It was dark below, and there were no moveable lamps with which he could examine the trapdoor more closely. Nevertheless, he could see inside that the drop was around eight feet deep, and terminated in two metal runners that appeared to slope away to the right, dipping under the stage to disappear further underground. Clearly, during the disappearing act, Alfonso would position the girl over the hatch and then foot the paddle, dropping her swiftly into the hole beneath.

Newbury guessed the victim would land in some kind of padded cart or box, which would then rol away on the tracks beneath, depositing the girl somewhere else i n the building.

It was ingenious — a masterpiece of engineering — and having seen the illusion performed first-hand, Newbury knew just how effective it appeared to the onlooker. He rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin. The strange thing was that the trap had been triggered at all. The weight of Alfonso’s body had opened the hatch — clearly — but what intrigued Newbury was the fact that the cart itself was missing from beneath the stage. The mechanism had been used, but had not yet been reset. A body had been dropped into the missing cart. It could, of course, have been a simple case of tardiness, but in the back of his mind, Newbury feared that if Veronica had come to this dismal place, she may have discovered first-hand exactly how the girls were being whisked away.

Newbury paused, suddenly alert. Somewhere in the shadows, off to the other side of the stage, he thought he had heard a footstep. He waited.

Nothing.

He got to his feet. There! Not a footstep, but something else. The rasping sound of a sword being drawn carefully from a scabbard. Newbury felt himself stiffen. There was someone there, watching him, in the shadows. Someone bearing a weapon. He looked around for something he could use to defend himself. The rack of Alfonso’s swords was off to one side, near to the source of the sound. There was the blade sticking out of the magician’s rigid corpse, but Newbury knew that it would take him a moment to tug it free, and in doing so he would alert whoever was lurking in the shadows to the fact that he was aware of their presence. That could leave him dangerously exposed.

He considered jumping into the hatch, but with the mechanism already triggered he did not know what to expect at the other end, and did not want to find himself trapped in an underground shaft with no means of escape. His options were limited. Reluctantly, he decided to cal his opponent out.

Unarmed, it was a dangerous course of action, but nevertheless, he wanted whoever it was lurking off stage in plain view.

“If you’re going to remain there in the shadows, I’ll feel compelled to carry on with my investigation. I don’t have time to stand around waiting for you.” His voice echoed out around the empty auditorium. He heard a man chuckling in the darkness. And then a figure emerged, drifting out of the shadows like a ghost suddenly adopting corporeal form. The man strol ed -boldly forward, his sword held, unusual y, in his left hand. The blade glinted in the harsh electric light.

“Bravo! Bravo! I admire your panache.” The man stopped as he entered the circle of light thrown down by the electric lamp. “So, you’re Newbury. How I’ve wanted to meet my successor.”

Newbury blanched. His successor? Then this was the much-maligned Dr. Aubrey Knox. How did he fit into the picture? Was he the one behind the missing girls? And what else? It seemed too significant a coincidence that both he and Ashford should surface in London at the same time. There had to be a connection. Perhaps Ashford really was looking for revenge. Perhaps that’s why he was here, after al this time. But now was not the time to ponder on it. Newbury met his opponent’s gaze. “Dr. Aubrey Knox. I can’t say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Knox laughed. “We’re not so different, you and I. Not so different at all. You shouldn’t listen to everything that others tel you, Newbury. Perhaps it is only your misguided sense of duty that sets us apart.”

Newbury shook his head. “No, we are not alike. I am nothing like you at all.” He was curious to see how the situation would play out. He knew very little of his predecessor, little more than he’d learned in the last few days. He wondered if the man would live up to his fearsome reputation.

Knox came forward, further into the light. “You sound like Charles. How is the old boy?”

Newbury glanced across the stage at the rack of swords. His response was terse. “Well enough.”

Knox grinned. “Yes, I always thought the job would wear him down. Stil , I suspect he’ll hold on until the bitter end. Wouldn’t, be like Charles to throw in the towel.” He paused, smiling. “Oh, and Miss Hobbes sends her regards.”

Newbury’s curiosity about the man ignited into rage. Knox was taunting him. He clearly knew what had become of Veronica; more than likely had a hand in it, also. Newbury sprang into action.

He rushed forward, catching Knox off guard so that he could batter the other man’s sword arm easily to one side and bring his elbow up sharply into the pale man’s face. Carrying forward with his momentum whilst Knox was dazed, Newbury darted towards the rack of swords, grasped one by the hilt and swept it out from its wooden notch. He spun around, presenting the point of the weapon to Knox.

There was little more than three feet between them. Knox al owed his sword arm to idle casually by his side. He was laughing, spitting blood. “So, perhaps she is more than a pet, after all.”

Newbury decided that enough was enough. He could not allow this man to slight Veronica in such a manner. He would wound him, force him to reveal what he had done with Veronica, and then take him in. Or, if it came to it, he would run him through. He lurched forward, the point of his sabre singing out towards the other man’s breast.

Knox moved like lightning. One minute, he was standing nonchalantly eyeing Newbury, jesting with him; the next his arm had flashed up in a blindingly quick parry, and he was facing the Crown detective, his wiry body poised, ready for the interplay of the two weapons. He was still laughing as Newbury thrust again, and once more was parried. Newbury had fenced in his youth, but Knox, it seemed, was an expert. He sent Newbury’s thrusts wide each time, with only the smal est flick of his wrist. He barely seemed to draw breath whilst doing so. Newbury recognised the tactic. Knox was attempting to tire him out. He could not let that happen. Ceasing his series of ineffectual thrusts, he drew back, his sword at the ready.

“Oh, come, come, Sir Maurice. Haven’t you the stomach for a good fight? I was quite enjoying our little tete-a-tete.” He shifted again, reaching forward with his blade, his foot stamping the floor as he threw his weight behind the movement. Newbury felt a flash of pain on his right cheek. Knox recovered his poise, and Newbury realised that blood was flowing freely from a cut on his face. He hadn’t even had chance to react. He was clearly outclassed.

Knox smiled. He had a superior air about him, as if he were enjoying the encounter, knowing ful well that of the two men, he currently had the upper hand. When he spoke it was almost genial, as if he and Newbury were nothing but two old acquaintances, sharing a conversation at a gentlemen’s club. “Fight me, Newbury! I can see the fire behind your eyes. You want to know what I’ve done with her, don’t you?”

Newbury, composing himself, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. He kept his blade low, ready, waiting. He would not rise to the other man’s taunts. “Tell me where she is, Knox, and I shal let you live.” His voice was a low growl.

“Hmmm. Quite a dilemma. I didn’t have you down as the sort of chap to make idle threats, Newbury. That’s a crashing disappointment.” He was sneering now, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Newbury hoped he was coming to the end of his game. If Knox had no time for idle threats, Newbury had no time for cat and mouse. He may not have been able to demonstrate such finesse with a blade, but what he lacked in theatrics, he gained in brute force and spirit.

“There is nothing idle about the threat, Knox.”

Knox whipped out his blade, aiming high, but Newbury caught it easily, their swords ringing out as they clattered, tick, tick, tick, whilst the two men thrust and parried frenetically. Searching for a means to gain the upper hand, Newbury eyed the stage behind the doctor. The hatch was stil open.

If he could manoeuvre the fight just a few feet closer towards that narrow opening, he reasoned he’d be able to send Knox crashing backwards into it. The difficulty came in circumnavigating the body of Alfonso, spread-eagled on the boards between the two fighting men and the hole.