The Feaster From The Stars (Blackwood and Harrington) Page 8

  De Chardin glanced at him again, this time in undisguised incredulity.

  Blackwood smiled. ‘I know how that sounds, Detective, but it has been corroborated by Mr Shanahan. Whatever is happening on the Underground seems to be connected in some way with that mysterious world.’

  ‘Shanahan,’ said de Chardin. ‘I didn’t know he had become involved.’

  ‘He hasn’t, not really. Lady Sophia and I had a brief conversation with him yesterday morning, during which he verified the existence of Carcosa. He said that he had pressing business to attend to elsewhere and wouldn’t be able to offer us much help on this case, although he did advise Lady Sophia and me to attend a lecture to be presented by an occultist named Simon Castaigne here in London – a lecture to which I have already received an invitation.’

  ‘I’ve heard of Castaigne,’ said de Chardin.

  Blackwood gave him a surprised look as they followed the detective down the wide marble staircase towards the ground floor. ‘You have?’

  ‘Oh yes. He wrote a treatise on the early history of the Knights Templar a few years ago. We have it in our library upstairs. It makes for entertaining – if rather lurid – reading.’

  ‘Then it isn’t accurate?’ said Sophia.

  ‘Well, let’s just say that he fills in the gaps in his knowledge of our early years with some rather wild speculation.’ He glanced at Blackwood. ‘I’m not sure how much credence I would place in the claims of Dr Castaigne.’

  ‘He knows of Carcosa,’ Blackwood replied, ‘and now, so does a common train driver. And it seems that that knowledge has cost the poor man his sanity.’

  ‘Well,’ shrugged the detective, ‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing. This whole business is so unconscionably bizarre that I suppose we should take our leads wherever we may find them.’

  They continued down past the ground floor to the basement, where the holding cells were located. Although the place was clean and well-lit by gas lamps ranged at equal distances upon the whitewashed walls, it still held an oppressive atmosphere which hinted at violence and wasted lives. There was a faint odour of unwashed bodies, and when an occasional shout emerged from behind one of the doors lining the main corridor, it was harsh, guttural and filled with rage.

  At the far end of the corridor, a constable sat at a desk. He stood up when he saw them approaching. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.

  ‘And to you, Constable,’ de Chardin nodded. ‘I’d like to speak with Barrymore Tench.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The constable led them to one of the doors, withdrawing a set of keys from his pocket as he did so.

  ‘How has he been?’

  ‘Quiet as a mouse, sir. I was expecting a bit more trouble from him than we’ve actually had, I must say.’

  De Chardin slid aside the observation panel set into the door and looked into the cell. He frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Blackwood.

  De Chardin didn’t reply as he motioned for the constable to unlock the door. Blackwood and Sophia followed him into the cell, where they immediately saw the reason for the detective’s expression of concern.

  Barrymore Tench was sitting on the edge of the narrow metal bed on the far side of the room. His head was bowed, and he was weeping quietly.

  Blackwood closed the door behind them as de Chardin said, ‘Mr Tench, we’ve come to ask you some questions about what happened. I advise you to answer immediately and honestly: I hardly need remind you of how much trouble you’re in.’

  Tench looked up at them, and his tear-filled eyes were clouded with fear and horrible memories. ‘Not as much trouble as poor Seamus,’ he said in a quiet, defeated voice.

  ‘Why did you beat Harold Fraser in such a vicious manner?’

  ‘I was angry,’ Tench replied without hesitation. ‘I wanted to make him suffer the way my mate suffered.’

  ‘You maintain that something… unnatural happened to Mr Brennan?’

  ‘Oh yes… oh yes. Something unnatural happened, and no mistake!’

  ‘What was it?’ asked Blackwood, stepping forward.

  Tench looked up at him. ‘You’re no copper. Who are you?’

  ‘Never mind who he is, Tench,’ said de Chardin. ‘Just answer his question.’

  ‘What difference does it make, what happened?’ Tench said, his voice filled with bitterness. ‘Seamus is gone, and I’m goin’ to gaol… and maybe that’ll be the safest place to be, so I ain’t bothered.’

  ‘Tell us what happened, Mr Tench,’ said Sophia. ‘We need your help to understand what’s happening down there, in the tunnels.’

  The prisoner looked at Sophia in surprise, as if he had only just noticed her presence. ‘You can’t understand what’s happenin’ down there, miss. No one can. They should shut down the Underground… fill in all them tunnels an’ leave it alone! We’re not meant to be down there; we don’t belong, don’t you see? There’s somethin’ down there that wants to be left alone!’

  De Chardin took another step forward. ‘Tell us what happened.’

  Tench gazed up at him, and his eyes filled anew with tears.

  ‘Tell us what happened!’ the detective thundered.

  Tench recoiled, shutting his eyes. Sophia jumped and put her hand to her mouth. Blackwood gave her a warning look, for he could see as well as de Chardin that Tench was on the verge of breaking down completely, and that a shouted order would certainly be obeyed. The man was clearly approaching the end of his tether, and in no mental state to offer any resistance to his questioner’s demands.

  De Chardin spoke again, but this time his voice was soft, almost imploring. ‘Tell us, lad…’

  And Barrymore Tench told them everything. He told them what they had seen in the tunnel, what it had done to Seamus Brennan, how he himself had escaped, and how the shame had burned in his heart as he staggered in panic and confusion to the nearest public house, when in fact he should have alerted his supervisor that something had happened in one of the tunnels. He told them how he had got drunk to ease the pain and the memories which swam before his eyes, of Brennan writhing and thrashing on the ground, covered in a moving mass of human hair, and the brief glimpse he’d had of something indescribable hovering in the darkness; he told them how he had woken up this morning feeling nothing but the desire to thrash Fraser, to cause him all the fear and pain that Seamus had felt…

  And so that was what he had done: he’d made the bastard pay for sending Seamus to his death. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he said. ‘You needn’t think I’m sorry! I’d do it again, I would!’

  ‘All right,’ said de Chardin. ‘What about the previous night? What about the girl?’

  Tench lowered his eyes and shuddered. ‘Yes… the girl. We saw her – Seamus, Bertie Smallwood and me. On the line… poor little thing, she was. Thin, afraid-lookin’, surrounded by a blue light. She was walking in the tunnel, along the metals. Bertie stopped the train when he saw her, and when Seamus and I went to see what was the matter, we saw her too.’

  ‘What did she do?’ asked Sophia.

  Tench turned his haunted eyes to her. ‘She screamed, miss. She screamed and screamed, and we ran…’

  ‘And Mr Fraser put you on fluffer duty as a result,’ said Blackwood.

  Tench ignored him. ‘The look on her little face,’ he said. And then he looked again at Sophia and whispered, ‘Even the dead are afraid of what’s down there.’

  Blackwood touched de Chardin’s arm and nodded towards the cell door.

  ‘All right, Mr Tench,’ said the detective. ‘You’ve been very cooperative. We’ll talk again.’

  They left the workman and stood in the corridor while the constable closed and locked the door once again.

  De Chardin glanced from Blackwood to Sophia. ‘Well… what do you think?’

  ‘I think,’ Sophia replied, ‘that there is a force at work on the Underground that is capable of manipulating objects for its own ends. I also think that this may well be what Mr Morgan saw in the Kennington
Loop.’

  ‘Manipulating objects?’ said de Chardin. ‘You mean the human hair which Tench mentioned?’

  ‘I do,’ she replied, and she described Walter Goodman-Brown’s impressions during his contact analysis of Alfie Morgan’s train. ‘The thing used what Walter described as fine filaments to open the connecting doors between the carriages; he also believed that they were not actually a part of the thing. It’s my suspicion that whatever this entity is, it can only interact with the material world in limited ways. And yet…’ She paused and put an index finger to her chin in contemplation, a gesture which both Blackwood and de Chardin found rather charming, in spite of the macabre nature of the conversation.

  ‘And yet?’ said the detective.

  ‘If it can manipulate something like human hair to perform actions, such as opening a carriage door, then why not simply open the door itself?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s some quality to the hair,’ suggested Blackwood. ‘Its lightness and tensile strength, perhaps. It may be easier to manipulate that than the metal of a door latch.’

  Sophia nodded. ‘You may well be right, Thomas. It could be using the hair in a similar manner to that in which a spirit uses ectoplasm to interact with the physical world.’

  ‘And what of its origin?’ asked de Chardin. ‘Could it really be a visitor from a distant planet?’

  Sophia gave a grim smile. ‘Or perhaps a distant universe.’

  ‘A distant universe?’ De Chardin shook his head. ‘Good grief.’

  ‘In any event, detective,’ said Blackwood, ‘I still think it’s time you and I went down into the network to have a look for ourselves.’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ said Sophia.

  Blackwood shook his head. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’

  Sophia frowned. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘It’s far too dangerous. We don’t know what we may encounter down there; I would be much happier if you remained on the surface.’

  Sophia’s face flushed with sudden anger. ‘Thomas, I really think –’

  Blackwood held up a hand. ‘I’m sorry, but I am responsible for your safety…’

  ‘I am responsible for my own safety, sir! Might I remind you that as Secretary of the SPR, I have conducted numerous investigations of supernatural events? I can assure you that I am quite capable of looking after myself.’

  Blackwood glanced at de Chardin, who had lowered his eyes in embarrassment and appeared to be inspecting his shoes. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this later, Sophia,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Later? You mean, after you and the detective have returned! Thomas, we have not known each other for very long, but even so, I would not have expected this of you.’ She shook her head and regarded him with hurt and angry eyes.

  Blackwood sighed. ‘Please forgive me, Sophia, but this is my final word on the matter.’

  ‘As a Special Investigator for the Crown,’ said de Chardin, ‘Mr Blackwood does have seniority.’

  Sophia glanced at de Chardin, and then at the constable, who had returned to his desk and was now looking at them, having heard the exchange.

  There was more she wanted to say, much more, for she was angry and embarrassed, and the embarrassment made her even angrier. How dare Blackwood tell her where she could and couldn’t go! She was at least his equal in her understanding of the supernatural, and another pair of eyes down on the Underground network would only increase the speed and efficiency of their investigation.

  However, she could see that she had already shocked Detective de Chardin with the vehemence of her reaction, and she had no desire to make a scene in front of him and the constable. And so she took a deep breath and said as calmly as she could, ‘Very well, Thomas. I will accede to your… seniority. Is there anything you would like me to do while you and the detective are down in the network?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ replied Blackwood, clearly relieved that Sophia had chosen not to give full vent to the irritation and resentment she so clearly felt (and which, he had to admit, was entirely understandable). ‘Mr Charles Exeter is the Chairman of the City and South London Railway, which includes the Kennington Loop. The CSLR is at present continuing with its programme of excavating new deep-level tube lines. In view of what Mr Goodman-Brown described, I think it would be a good idea to request an interview with Mr Exeter and see whether his company has uncovered anything unusual recently – anything which might conceivably have caused the entity’s appearance.’

  ‘What do you mean “unusual”?’ said de Chardin.

  Blackwood shrugged. ‘At this stage, I don’t know.’

  ‘A hunch?’

  ‘Call it that. But there must be a reason why these disturbances have begun only recently.’ Blackwood turned to Sophia. ‘It would be very helpful indeed if you could talk to Exeter and see if there is a connection.’

  In spite of herself, Sophia was intrigued by this idea, and so she nodded and replied, ‘Very well, Thomas. I shall ask Sir William to draft a letter of introduction without delay.’

  Blackwood smiled and nodded. With an introduction from Sir William Crookes, the President of the Society for Psychical Research, she would have no trouble gaining access to the CSLR Chairman. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I suggest that we fall to our tasks without delay.’

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  An Excursion and an Interview

  While Blackwood and de Chardin headed off to Farringdon Street, Sophia returned to the SPR headquarters and went immediately to Sir William Crookes’s office, where she found him poring over an assortment of newspaper clippings arranged neatly upon his desk.

  ‘Hello, Sophia,’ he smiled. ‘Do come in.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir William.’

  ‘Have a seat, my dear. You look a little flustered, if I may say so.’

  Sophia smiled at the observation. Although he was approaching his seventies, Sir William Crookes’s mind was as keen as ever. He had been a close friend of the Harrington family for many years and had been instrumental in helping her to come to terms with the loss of her father during their hunting trip in Canada ten years before. Indeed, he had been the only person with whom she had felt able to discuss their encounter with the Wendigo.

  Sir William had observed, and understood, the resultant yearning in Sophia’s heart to investigate the mysteries of the supernatural world, to discover ways of guarding humanity against the darkness while also seeking out the light in order to learn and gain strength from it. Later, he had invited her to join the Society for Psychical Research and had persuaded her to share her singular experience with other senior members, who had had no objections when he suggested that she be appointed Secretary following the departure of Dr Henry Armistead to pursue a lecturing opportunity at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island.

  Sophia owed Sir William a great deal, and now, as she regarded the elderly scientist with his high, noble forehead, neatly-trimmed white beard and carefully-waxed moustache, she found herself wondering, as she often did, whether her father might one day have looked a little like this, had he been allowed to grow old…

  ‘I suppose you could say I am a little flustered, Sir William,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why? Whatever is the matter?’

  ‘Mr Thomas Blackwood is the matter,’ she replied.

  Sir William caught the huffy tone of her voice and chuckled. ‘And what has he done to annoy you?’

  ‘He has forbidden me from accompanying him and Detective de Chardin into the tunnels of the Underground. He says that he is responsible for my safety, and that the potential danger is too great. I mean… really.’

  Sir William’s chuckle became a soft laugh. ‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable…’

  ‘Sir William!’

  He held up his hands in a gesture of placation. ‘I merely meant that he does not know you as well as I do, and he has yet to appreciate the great resilience and resourcefulness which you possess.’

  ‘I would have thought
that my contributions during the affair of the Martian Ambassador would have convinced him of that.’

  Sir William gave her a warm, sympathetic smile. ‘Sophia, we are living in a remarkable age: an age of astonishing advancements in virtually every field of human endeavour, and yet, there are certain aspects of the human personality, the emotional aspects, which sometimes have trouble keeping up with those of the intellect. I’m quite sure that Mr Blackwood has every confidence in your abilities, both in your capacity as an investigator of the supernatural and as his colleague. But that confidence does not yet have the power to overcome his innate desire to protect a young lady from harm and to recoil from the idea of placing her in a potentially dangerous situation unnecessarily. It is an attitude I wholeheartedly disagree with, since I know you so well, but it is one which I can understand.’

  Sophia sighed as she took his words in. ‘I suppose you are right,’ she said.

  Sir William’s smile broadened. ‘But you remain unconvinced: a properly scientific attitude in the absence of further supporting evidence.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘In any event,’ he continued, ‘how is the investigation going?’

  ‘We have made some headway,’ Sophia replied, and she proceeded to summarise what she and Blackwood had learned and theorised so far.

  ‘Good,’ Sir William nodded. ‘I have been doing a little investigating of my own. Come around and take a look at this.’

  Sophia joined him and saw that underneath the newspaper clippings there was a large map of the Underground network. Sir William moved the clippings aside to reveal an irregular pentagon which he had drawn on the map and which encompassed a substantial swathe of Central London. The five corners of the pentagon were at Farringdon Street, Paddington, Aldgate, Kennington and South Kensington Tube Stations, while the lines connecting them passed through Bond Street, Covent Garden, Bank, and Elephant & Castle.