Monday 4th August 1879: Highbury Hall, Birmingham

Maxiumus lowered himself from the glass and looked at me quizzically. “Eat me if you must,” I muttered in my gloom. He, of course, ignored me, circling and carefully approaching the pond at my back. I did my best to keep my eyes off him, but could not help but turn and look. He dipped his ungainly hand, so much like ours with that long thumb and yet so different, into the water and scooped it to his grinning mouth, watching me all the while.

“Tasty?”

With a deep breath I pulled myself to my feet and stared at the locked door that had so defeated me. With a scowl I strode toward it purposefully and launched a most unbecoming kick. The door rattled in the frame but didn’t budge. I crouched and recovered my broken pick, pulled another from my hair, and in an instant had the accursed thing open. There is something to be said for clarity of mind.

Inside the Velvet Wraith stood resplendent. Once again it took my breath away; such beauty that only nature can provide, despites mankind’s best efforts. Perhaps a woman one day would match it.

A loud splash from the pond outside shook me from my reverie—Maximus was scampering away up the gantry and the water disturbed. I grabbed the Wraith and hustled my way up the spiral stairway away from the pool. From above I looked down and saw a shadow spiralling through the water before diving deep.

“Gideon!” Silas called and I spun to find him approaching. I quickly hid the stolen plant behind my back.

“Hello Silas—did you see that in the pond? An serpent!”

“No I’m afraid not; how large was it?”

“Enormous! It filled the entire pool and scared Maximus away,” I said pointing to the great ape that hung below us.

“I see. A sigmoid. That doesn’t sound good.”

“Sigmoid? Never mind that. Maybe Blackwood was right—it’s in the pipes.”

“Perhaps. Now—I have news.”

“Me too!”

“Is yours whatever is hiding behind your back? You took it, didn’t you,” Silas said accusingly.

“Oh Silas you are such a spoil sport, it was meant to be a surprise,” I said revealing the orchid. The light through the glass illuminated the deep purple shade to great advantage.

Silas groaned. “Put it back.”

“Back? No! You have no idea how difficult it was to obtain this, what with gorillas and broken locks.”

“Your friend Maximus is a Mandrill,” Silas corrected, “And I find it hard to believe any lock could challenge you.”

“Yes, well, never mind that. I am not putting it back. Even if the serpent is behind Watson’s death it would be better to hold onto this as insurance. I will hide it in my room whilst we confront whatever comes next.”

“Very well, Gideon. As to what comes next, that is my news.”

“You have made up with Dr Chamberlain?”

“I have. Potters and I, somewhat sheepishly, apologised for our outbursts and are back on level terms. I explained our troubles of late have left me somewhat overwrought and begged his forgiveness, hoping our history counted for something. He accepted this and expressed his fervent wish we get back to work.”

“Back to work?”

“He said we had come a long way, and I concur, and that there was only one thing left: a final experiment.”

“Of what nature?”

“Testing the efficacy of the serum,” Silas said carefully.

“But hasn’t he already tested it upon himself? What more is there to do?”

“He has, and swears that it has worked as he predicted. And I must say I can see some evidence of that claim—his fractured arm appears to have fully recovered in what can only be described as record time; he pushed up from the table on it and shook my hand with a firm grip.”

“Well that is certainly good news for him. Though it does not counter Molina’s warnings,” I said. “He never denied it’s ‘efficacy’, as you and Dr Chamberlain are so fond of saying.”

“Nevertheless, he explained that our samples have matured well and should now be tested to see if the replication of your precious orchid has been effective. He will administer it as a simple injection, and invited us to witness the application,” Silas concluded.

The samples—plural! I thought back to the collection of yellow dishes, and the one brown. I had taken the wrong one, thinking it to be the only one that had worked! I rued my misfortune.

“Well Silas, let us attend to this great event. Lead me to my room first and I will hide the orchid.”

Bar a close encounter with Van der Valk, who was escorting Blackwood upstairs, everything proceeded as planned. We arrived in Chamberlain’s chamber to find syringes, vials, and all the accoutrements required of a medical procedure. Dr Chamberlain was drawing a measure of pale green liquid into the syringe.

“Purified essence of the Velvet Wraith!” he exclaimed with evident satisfaction. “A once hidden miracle soon to be widespread.”

I glanced nervously at Silas who was watching with eagle eyes.

“Now. We will start with the most robust of specimens,” Chamberlain smiled. “Lie down please, Mr Blackwood.”

WHAT! My shock was matched by Silas’s, who held his hand up to protest. “Potters? What do you mean?”

“We need to test the effectiveness of the serum on regular types, not just the wounded,” Chamberlain explained.

Blackwood, whether to his credit or lack thereof I am not sure, nodded happily and moved toward the bed. “Can you explain what the procedure will be?”

“Simply that you will be administered the serum, and we will carefully record your reaction.”

“Joseph that was not what we agreed,” Silas said, warning in his voice.

“Mr Blackwood, if you please?” Chamberlain indicated the bed, ignoring Silas and holding the syringe ready.

“No!” Silas snapped his hand around Chamberlain’s wrist with the speed of a viper, faster than the eye could follow.

“Mr Van der Walk, if you would?” Chamberlain said calmly.

We turned to find Van der Walk freeing a twin barrelled shotgun from his coat. Without thinking I leapt toward him, trying to force the firearm away. Being rather small of stature I failed miserably, though it did force the big man to flail briefly to get me out of his line.

This brief distraction allowed Mr Blackwood to leap to his feet and charge. “Hands off her!” he growled as he tackled Van der Valk to the floor. I wondered briefly if he had played rugger in his youth such was his good form—Daphne, bless him, would be proud. He knocked the ball—sorry, shotgun—free.

As Van der Valk swore in a variety of Dutch I was glad not to understand, Chamberlain managed to break free of Silas’s grip. It was his turn to produce a pistol, somewhat larger than mine. “Call your dog off!” he scowled.

To complicate matters, at this moment Aston arrived on the scene. He in turn leapt atop Blackwood trying to drag him off Van der Walk. Blackwood would have nothing of it, flinging him away with a strength that reminded me of his dismantling of Peter Abernathy’s jaw. He turned his attention back the manservant beneath him, digging his fingers into an eye. Van der Walk screamed in agony. “You’re next,” Blackwood hissed to Aston.

With Chamberlain’s attention momentarily diverted by this scuffle, Silas shot forward and slapped at Chamberlain’s pistol hand with his cane, again moving faster that I could credit. Chamberlain reeled into the wall, shaken, but managed to retain his grip on the weapon.

I pulled my own pistol from my breast and aimed it at Dr Chamberlain. “Who do you think is faster?” I taunted, hand steady. Chamberlain snorted, unbowed. Silas took the opportunity to thwack Chamberlain again. “A fine hit!” I cried, only for my cry to turn to one of horror as Chamberlain fired his pistol into Silas’s chest at point blank.

I fired back catching Chamberlain’s shoulder, but the bullet was wholly ineffective at piercing his leather apron. “A taste of your own medicine, Dr Chamberlain!” I cried, hoping words would be more effective. Chamberlain paffed away another strike from Silas, and shot him again. “Silas!” I cried as I saw him stagger in shock.

Behind us I heard Aston cry out. “Get off him!” I turned my head to see the shotgun now trained at Blackwood. “You’d better kill me with your first shot,” Blackwood snarled with marvellous bravery.

“I will!” A moment later the room echoed with explosion of a shot which, thankfully, did nothing more than destroy a painting hanging on the wall above. “I warned you…” Blackwood smiled.

Van der Valk meanwhile was doing his best to shove Blackwood off, but Blackwood was far too strong. He crushed Van der Valk’s skull between his big paws. “Shouldn’t have threatened the lady—that’s what killed you,” he growled. I was beginning to understand what drove Blackwood’s dark rages, and made a mental note to design a course of rectification back at the coffee house (if we indeed survived to see that day). Van der Walk was unlikely to, now coughing blood as he choked and gasped for air.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Aston yelled again, shotgun trained. “Don’t shoot,” Blackwood said raising one hand—but to my eye he was merely feigning surrender. And so it was proved as he suddenly moved toward Aston, who pulled the trigger again, and again missed, the kickback sending the shot into the leg of a chair instead.

“That was your last shot,” Blackwood grinned evilly as Aston started to frantically reload. Blackwood looked over to see Silas reeling and before I could blink he had charged back over toward Chamberlain. He was like one of the pet leopards, though perhaps more a lion, leaping over the bed and grappling the surprised Doctor to the floor. His head thumped hard into the metal frame of the hospital bed and he grunted in pain.

Chamberlain’s pistol hand was exposed, so, seeing his chance, Silas gathered his strength and jumped over. He jammed his heel into Chamberlain’s wrist, jolting the weapon free. With a viciousness born of betrayal, Silas crunched down on Chamberlain’s shoulder. A horrible, green, sap-like juice flooded free of the deep wound, and with a final gurgle the erstwhile Dr Chamberlain expired.

I spun to find Van der Valk had recovered his feet as Aston tossed him the shotgun. I trained my pistol before he could raise the gun. “Stand down, sir. Your master is dead.”

Van der Walk, his one open eye a blank stare (the other sealed over thanks to Blackwood’s treatment), merely cocked the freshly loaded shotgun. I fired, cursing as again the shot was shrugged away; my gun was designed for dissuading more than killing. There was nothing for it. I turned to the last but perhaps most reliable means at a threatened woman’s disposal: with a cry I collapsed toward Van der Valk as if swooning and needing rescue. A damsel in distress, if you would.

And, as fate, cliché, and centuries of story would have it, it worked. Van der Valk instinctively reached to catch me.

Moments later our lion arrived to finish his rampage. There was no grace, only power, as Mr Blackwood landed atop Van der Valk for the final time. “HANDS OFF!” he bellowed as once again the shotgun spun free. Silas raced over and raised his cane to Aston, who clutched the gun. “Chamberlain’s dead! Stand down or join him!”

Aston fired. A point blank shot that would kill Silas. But Aston was a farmhand, and had learnt nothing from his prior failures. The blast hit the door jamb harmlessly. “For gods sake man, you’ve only got one shot left—you can’t kill us all!”

Realisation swept over Aston. He lowered the shotgun, defeated.

On the floor, our scuffle with Van der Valk continued. Blackwood and I both lay atop him as he writhed beneath. With a tremendous effort he finally threw Blackwood off, somehow still alive despite his grievous wounds. He just needed one more…

I freed my concealed switchblade, flicked the knife open, and jammed it into his remaining eye. It sunk to the hilt and Van der Valk let out a final, almost tender, sigh.

I turned my head to look at Blackwood. “My turn to save your life, Mr Blackwood,” I panted.

“Thank you, madam!” He climbed to his feet and stood on the body of Van der Valk, turning his attention to Aston. “Put down the gun or I’ll rip you apart,” he growled.

Aston dropped the gun, turned, and fled out onto the rooftop through a rear door. We let him go.

Mr Blackwood helped me to my feet. “Thank you, Jack,” I smiled. The adrenalin was fading fast and I felt sick at the scene that lay before us. Two dead men, one an old friend of Silas. Blood and worse leaking from both.

“Are you ok, Doctor?” Blackwood said, seeing Silas very pale.

“Actually, no. Could you bring me my medicine bag?” Silas said, sitting onto the nearest bed.

“I think we could all do with some,” I agreed collapsing by Silas’s side.

It was over. But we still didn’t have our answers, just death and disarray.

And one Velvet Wraith.