Mad Bride of the Ripper Page 13

  “But you said a vampire doesn’t normally find their powers until later. Until they’re older. Some never do. That’s what you said. How could we expect her to get so powerful so quickly?”

  “We should have guessed,” Van Helsing said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don’t blame you entirely. I should have guessed. The trauma of what we did to her must have woken it, I suppose. Like an instinct for survival. It triggered the latent power of a vampire too soon.”

  “What we did? We did nothing,” Doctor Seward said. Softly. “It was all you, Abraham. What you put her through? All you. And I’ll not let you do that again. The scars of that night are still bleeding deep in my soul.”

  “It had to be done! We are fighting a war, John. Fighting a war we may not be able to win unless we can find out more about them. How many have we found lately who were immune to holy water? To iron, even? What if they begin to resist the crucifix? Silver? Garlic? What then? No. I would take any risk. Commit any sin in the name of preserving the human race. To this noble end, we must be prepared to do anything we can for knowledge.”

  “A stake will still do the job,” William said. Shrugged. “What else is there to know?”

  “Fools.” Van Helsing rose, rigid and quaking with rage. Pounded table with his fist. “And what of Dracula or Karnstein? A stake seldom keeps the most powerful of them dead forever. It merely incapacitates them until they’re revived again. Twice we had to kill Karnstein. What if she returns and we are not there to stop her? We must discover a way to destroy them permanently.”

  “I know all of that, Abraham. But Lucy’s screams broke my heart,” Doctor Seward said. “No creature should endure what you put her through. None. Evil or not, that was beyond torture.”

  “I would do it again.” He sneered in contempt at the other man. “You saw the girl you loved and not the monster she has become. The screams you heard were her voice, yes. But they were not her agony. That pain was the pain of a creature which has not an ounce of humanity left inside it. It has no soul, Doctor. No emotion.”

  “You said you could cure her.”

  “And that requires knowledge! Information! Are you so blind? How are we to do anything if we simply lock her in the cell and do nothing?”

  “There must be another way.” Lame now. He knew there was no other.

  “Foolishness.” But there was no heat in it. He turned back to William. “How many rooms does it have?”

  “Two.”

  “Excellent. I will have one to myself. I require it for my experiments. You may divide the rest of the house however you see fit.”

  “Sure.”

  “Doctor Seward and I will make our way there. You and Jonathan can bring the equipment. Make sure you do it in daylight. I don’t want her to sense our presence. And try to be discreet.”

  William looked around. There was a lot to move.

  Some of it heavy.

  He sighed as the door opened and Harker sauntered into the room. Looking a little wide about the eyes. A thick perfume followed him like echoes of the London fog.

  “Harker,” William said. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Sloper!” Harker hurried forward and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you. Very good indeed.”

  William put a hand to his nose. Mocking. “Hello, Harker. A strong whiff about you tonight. Spending a bit of time around street girls?”

  Harker flushed. “Just getting information. Making contacts. That sort of thing.”

  “Then I’m sure they were all worth a shilling or two.” He looked around. “Well, I think you all ought to get a good night’s sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead. Especially you, Harker. Lot of lifting.”

  Harker groaned.

  “That would be best,” Van Helsing said. “Where’s your kit bag, William?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your bag.”

  “Oh, I had to leave it behind. A couple of constables were checking bags.”

  “Then we should be careful what we carry.”

  “Yes, you should.” He patted his coat “Tuck it away real careful.”

  “Good advice,” Harker said. Clapped William on the shoulder and headed toward his cot.

  As the others bedded down for the rest of the night, William sat at the table. Sipping from his cup.

  Eyes scanning the men.

  All of whom he wanted very much to kill.

  “Tick tock,” he whispered. “Tick tock.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Renfield skipped through the street, pushing his barrow. Laughing happily between bouts of bawdy rhyme. Dirty old canvas across the contents.

  A kid came rushing out of an alley. Slid a full circle around him. “What’ve you got there, guv? You spare some?”

  “Spare some? What you think I am, tyke? Think I’m the meatwagon, eh? Meatwagon? I’m not the meatwagon, so be off with you. Ain’t nothing you’d want to eat in this here barrow. Ain’t nothing which’ll interest you, neither. Unless you’re a digger of soil? You dig the soil, tyke?”

  “Dig anything for a crust, guv.”

  “Would you?” He dipped fingers into his pocket and flipped a couple of shillings at the boy. “Then go back to digging somewhere else. And don’t be telling no one what I give you or you ain’t never getting another one.”

  The boy stared round-eyed at the coins. “You got more? What you want me to do, guv?”

  Renfield tapped the side of his nose and leered. “Probably things you’d best not mention to your mum.”

  “No fear. She’s dead.”

  “Hoo hoo! What got her, then? Sickness? Or…” Paused for a grin. “The Ripper?”

  “It weren’t the Ripper!” The boy danced around the barrow. “No, guv. Old Leather Apron can keep his muck. No. It were sickness. One day right as rain and the next she were gone.”

  “Sad story, tyke,” Renfield said. Sniffed for effect. Shoved the barrow around a bend. “Didn’t I tell you to be off?”

  “But it ain’t right to get paid for nothing. I ain’t no beggar! I work hard, I do.”

  “Then you skip off to old Granny Amelia. Opposite the Right and Sorrowful. Know where that is?”

  “Sure do. My dad had a place right next door.”

  “You wait out there, tyke. I’ll have a job for you. And you’ll do it right proper, won’t you?”

  “I’ll do it right proper alright.”

  “And don’t tell your kittens! I don’t want no more of you rodents pissing down my back.”

  “No fear.” He gave a tight salute. “I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Then be off with you! Ain’t I already said what’s to be said? Biscuits and tins.”

  The boy dashed off, no doubt to find somewhere he could spend his coin.

  Leaving Renfield to push the wagon on his own. Which was how he liked it.

  He kicked out his feet and lifted head to the sky. Grey clouds slithered above like a sea of mottled snakes. Hissing at each other so spits of venom rained down. Hit the cobblestones with a plink plink. Nothing hard.

  Just hinting at a rain which probably wouldn’t come.

  Not today, anyway.

  “Tum tum tarrum. Oh, what numbers flock to see Mobbs die upon the fatal tree.” Singing off-key, he didn’t slow as he pushed through a couple of men struggling with a ladder beside a wall. “Farewell my friendless children dead. A wretch to you-”

  “Look out,” snapped the tallest.

  “My eyes are as good as anybody’s,” Renfield hissed. “Don’t be making accusations.”

  “Can’t be that good if you don’t slow the fuck down! You saw us here.”

  “You want me to stop? Want to make something of it? Fisticuffs? Pistols before dawn? I’ve got a pistol. She’ll be right, she’ll be right. Right between the fucking eyes! Live a life of scorn, will ye? Come on then. Clap your hands and it be done. Won’t be me upon the tree. Not Renfield.”

  “Leave him be, Douglas,” the other man sighed. “A fo
ol could see the poor sod’s a few bottles short.”

  “Always a few bottles short,” Renfield grinned. Smacked his lips and tilted his hat. “Fine day for having a few drops. Fine day indeed.”

  And he was off.

  Scampering loose. Kicking heels high.

  Nothing could bring him down.

  Nothing could bring anger to his heart.

  He was on a mission.

  A job.

  “Out of the way, shaggers,” he called. Waved his arm imperiously. “Sir Renfield coming through. Out of the way, I say. Hammers and nails, you lot are slow. Queen’s business. Queen’s business! Didn’t you hear? Hey, fat rooster, move away. Out of the way. Queen’s business right here. She’ll have your neck torn right out if you don’t let me through.”

  The big man yelped as the barrow hit him hard in the thigh. Skipped himself to one side and aimed a flailing arm at Renfield’s head. “Watch where you’re fucking going!”

  “I’m watching!” Renfield snapped back. Gnashed his teeth a few times for effect. Letting spittle spray. “Woof woof! Yap away, little doggie. Fat doggie. I’ll leash you to this here cart and put you in a cage. Step aside. Aside, I say! Queen’s business. Make way all of ye, for Sir Renfield of Whitechapel!”

  “Hoy, Sir Renfield,” a whore cackled from a window overhead. Waved down at him. “You owe me sixpence.”

  “Six?” He pulled the barrow to a sharp halt. Whirled, outrage making his face red. “I call you liar and bitch! Sixpence for you? Why, you’re clearly worth more than that. Two shillings! One at the very fucking least. You cheat me, woman! Cheat Sir Renfield at your peril!”

  “Cheeky bugger. Two shillings is it? Well, I won’t be saying no. And I’ll give you a bit extra for making me laugh.”

  He hitched his pants and made to walk into the door below her window.

  Then looked back at the barrow and winced.

  Took his hat off and bowed. “I’m afraid I must decline, Duchess. I must deliver yonder parcel before the afternoon’s sup. Perhaps in an hour or two?”

  “I don’t know, Sir Renfield,” she giggled. Leaned on the sill and pursed her lips. “I might be entertaining a King.”

  “A King?” He grabbed the barrow in shock. “No Kings round here, love. No Kings at all. Queen won’t have them. She sees the King, she’s gonna tear his throat right out. You mark my word. Mark it here and mark it right up. Right out, too. Shivers and breeches. Give me a minute. I’ll be right back. Teach you a thing or two about this Lordship’s business. Hoo hoo!”

  He pushed the barrow on, ignoring a squeal from an old lady who nearly tripped across her heels as she scurried out of his way.

  The whore’s laughter swamped the curses thrown at his back. “Hurry back, Sir Renfield!”

  He shook his head. Pushing his hat down with one hand.

  Sweat dribbling down his chin.

  “Hot work,” he muttered. “Need a drink. Quick drink? No. Better late than never. Best be off. Busy busy. Busy bee. Buzz buzz. Honey in the lane. Is this it?”

  He stopped at the tight mouth of the bitter little lane.

  Looked up. Around.

  No signs.

  But there was a blue door. And a pub further down with an aging wooden sign shaped like a crow.

  “Looks right, looks right. Look left. Can’t be wrong, can it? This is it. A raven in the wing.”

  And he struggled to turn the barrow. Rolled it down the steep incline. Had to keep tight grip to not have it roll away from him.

  Unable to spare a hand, he shook his head against his shoulder to clear the sweat from his brow.

  “There it is,” he grinned suddenly. “This is it. Got to be it. Nice door and everything.”

  A young couple, arm in arm. Faces locked on each other. Nearly walked into his barrow.

  As the young man muttered apologies, Renfield sneered.

  Then offered the girl a tight bow. “Sir Renfield, lady. At your service. Minor lollygags and chimney sweeps. Have you like a muffin before breakfast, if you like. Flowers and spoons.”

  She stifled a laugh as the young man pulled her away, scowling at the mocking chuckle which chased his back.

  Renfield’s gaze followed her arse until he lost sight of her.

  Then sighed.

  “Hot down below, that one, Lord. Hot down below. Fire in my belly and a wistful summer day.”

  He ducked down beside the barrow. A small tin was crushed up under a thin layer of trash.

  Inside the tin, a key.

  Renfield pulled the key loose. Shoved it in the lock.

  Looked this way and that.

  Licked lips.

  Then scooted inside.

  “Here,” he called into the darkness. “Anybody home? I got a delivery, I have. Important one. Can’t wait.”

  Silence answered him.

  The kind of silence found only in empty buildings. The air, too, had an undisturbed feeling. No electricity in it.

  He grinned.

  Spun quickly and took another look down the street. Saw an older man shuffling along.

  The old man looked up. Wrinkled brow and suspicious set to his lips.

  Renfield tapped his forehead. “Afternoon, old sod,” he said. Friendly as he could. “You live hereabout? Got a roof over your head?”

  “Afternoon to you.” The old man squinted. “I’m a few doors down.”

  “I was told to meet some gentlemen here. You don’t know when they’d be back, would you? They were terrible fierce about having a chap do some work on one of their doors. Lock busted loose or something of the sort. Would’ve been here yesterday, but I am a man of leisure!”

  “You sure they’re coming back? I saw a couple of young lads pulling gear out this morning. They looked in a hurry.”

  “That’s alright. Probably just moving it all down to the back of the Westenra place. They did tell my boss they had to scarper quick. New opportunities, they said. Which is why they wanted me out to fix the lock.”

  “Westenra? What’s a Westenra?”

  “Never you mind, old son. Never you mind. Not my business, so not yours.”

  “You don’t look like a locksmith.”

  “And you don’t look like a nosy old cunt, do you? But we take our looks as we get them.”

  The old man moved on with a sour snort, leaving Renfield standing in the doorway.

  He waited until the other was gone.

  Then dived onto the canvas, tearing it free. Working as quick as he could with a snap of limbs and grinding teeth.

  A heavy bundle wrapped in sack. He snatched it tight and heaved it inside. Dragging it across the threshold.

  “Bloody thistles, you’re a heavy bastard you are. No mistake. Too many bats, I’m thinking. Not that there’s anything wrong with bats, but a man could easily eat one too many. Grow a belly. Grow some wings? Who knows what would happen with one too many bats in the belly. Probably get leprosy.”

  Kicked the door shut.

  Spun on his heel and saw the basement door had been left open.

  Looked down at his burden. “Not sure it’s right to throw you down, but I ain’t carrying you.” Said this as he rolled the bundle up to the edge of the stairs.

  Giggled.

  And nudged it with his boot.

  Watched it tumble awkwardly before landing with a sodden crash at the bottom.

  “Fine job, soldier boy. Fine job. Bet you saw a few rough wars. Killed plenty of women, I bet. And kids, too. Heard you liked the kids.” He skipped down the stairs two at a time. Stopped above the bundle. “What’s that? How’d I know? Why, your little girl told me. Told me a lot about you, she did. Told me everything I need to know. Big on words, she is. Loves to yap. I don’t think she likes bats, though. Some lasses have no class. All arse, as you would know. Hoo hoo.”

  He rolled the bundle toward the table in the middle of the room.

  Panting as he hurried himself.

  “Liar is she? Oh, I doubt that, sir. She knew a
bout the scar on your chest and the fact your willy ain’t too big.” Ugly laugh. “Yes, I know about your willy, sir. Littlest sausage in all of London. Why, my thumb’s twice its size. No wonder you liked yourself a little girl. Couldn’t please a proper-sized one, could you?”

  He grunted as he lifted the wrapped bundle and put it on the table.

  “Still. She’s ripe, ain’t she? Real hot fire down below, she has. Real hot. Piping. Put the kettle on. Make us tea. Heavens and Hells. Hear it ringing? What’s this? You’re all tied up. Must be Christmas. Must be. You’re a present not worth unwrapping, but we’ve a job to do.”

  He lapsed into quiet as he unknotted the rope.

  Rolled it out.

  First saw Havelock’s face. Wet with blood.

  Then the yawning hole in his throat. Skin hanging by flaps.

  Chest gaping open.

  Yanked the oiled canvas free and slopped as much old blood about as he could. Havelock’s body had been tightly bound and Renfield laid him out as flat as he could across the table top.

  “Well, Mister Havelock. Or is it Major Havelock? Corporal? Private? General, for all I know. Bastard, I say. All your titles give me a headache. Here. Let’s get started, shall we?” He whipped open his coat and pulled out a knife. Long and thin.

  So sharp it slit the air with a swish.

  Began to cut.

  First slashed another hole across the throat. Sawing so deep he saw the peek of bone.

  Then ripped a few holes in the belly, where she hadn’t thought to dig.

  To keep his story straight, pulled out a fistful of stinking entrails and let them glide off the table into a rotten heap.

  Tried not to stand on them as he went to work cutting a line right up to the sternum.

  “Pardon me, Mister Havelock,” he said, pushing his fist into the gaping hole. “But I did promise the young lady to take your fucking heart right the fuck out.”

  He grabbed the cold dead muscle.

  Squeezed fingers around the cold meat. Clotted blood slithering off his fist.

  Jerked it loose with a snap of sinew and stretched arteries which he had to sever loose.

  Weighed the lump of sour-smelling meat in his hand then tossed it off into the cage.

  A cage he knew they’d made for his Mistress.