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Saturday 9th August 1879: London

I rose early, despite the long day and heady night. I had promised something to Clement, and intended to keep that promise. And thus I started a detailed account of everything that had befallen us, winding time all the way back to the Abernathy affair. Having captured what I could, I sealed the pages inside my personal safe; none but Eunice could access it, and even she would have to wait for my demise before realising.

As to whether these pages would ever see the light of day…well, we shall see. We shall see.

---

Eunice surprised me by announcing the Sergeant Strange was awaiting my arrival. It was the last thing I wanted, so I delayed and delayed, sending telegrams to Silas and Blackwood proposing we meet at midday at Caliban books, our last loose thread. Being of the constabulary, the stubborn man would not leave, so eventually I paid him his due.

---

Sergeant Strange wasted no time getting to the point, waving the London Illustrated in his sweaty hand. “Did you leak this to the newspapers?” he demanded, “The station is in uproar.”

I most strenuously denied having done so, and declared the same for my companions. “I suppose this is causing DCI Clement some discomfort?”

“Madam he is under enormous pressure. The Foreign Office have taken a particular interest. Which is why I ask again: was it you?”

“No sir! The only thing I said to the newspaper was a sharp slap for Mr Ellis at his disrespect in approaching me. And I am rather displeased you would have to ask twice—do you not take a woman at her word?”

Strange squinted back at me; it was clear he did not, at least not this woman.

“If you will not then please, ask Dr Hawthorne or Mr Blackwood. You shall find they answer in the same way. I think perhaps you should look within your own ranks for the rat—I should think Dolly would be your first stop.”

Strange reddened at my impertinence. “If you think for one moment that Superintendent Williamson has anything to do with this,” he huffed, “You are sorely mistaken!”

“Why? He seems a deft political operator, perhaps he has a hidden motive.”

“Enough madam! I will take my leave, and report my findings.”

“Good day, sir. Come back whenever you like!”

---

“You know I had to interrupt a family picnic in Green Park to be here, Gideon?” Silas said mildly as we stood outside Caliban Books awaiting Blackwood. “Akira was enjoying himself greatly with a hoop and stick.”

“With your lovely wife, I presume?” I teased.

“Of course, and she is. Although our idyll of cherry blossoms and sunlight was rather interrupted by the dark cloud of Josie arriving with your message. She seemed horrified by the idea of having grass on her shoes. We did manage a serve of iced lollies before departing.”

“And you’ll be home for dinner, Silas.”

“Not if Hana has any say. She said she was never sure what to do with my dinner because we don’t have a dog to feed it to.”

I laughed, just as Blackwood stepped down from his Hansom. “Talking of dark clouds,” I said seeing Jack’s expression.

“I have bad news,” he said grimly, pulling us into the shelter of the store so we could have some privacy. “I went to visit Mickey Two Feet this morning to collect my firearms,” he began casually, as if collecting firearms were an everyday event. “I could sense something was wrong—the streets were empty as was the store when I stepped inside. The shelves were smashed, goods strewn about, and there was a smear of blood on the counter hatch.”

“Oh no,” I gasped, “Not Mickey too!”

“A bookshelf behind the counter was flung open, revealing a doorway. I stepped through and found him sitting on a chair in front of a fire. He looked unconscious, or dead.” Blackwood paused. “I’m sorry lady but what comes next is unpleasant.”

I turned my face away, but listened as Blackwood continued. “He was holding a rag soaked through with blood to his stomach. I lifted it carefully to find a slashing wound from the bottom of his sternum or ribcage extending to his abdomen.”

“A downward strike, Blackwood?” Silas asked. “Left shoulder to right abdomen?”

“Yes, yes, that was right. Rather shallow, but effective. He roused himself for a few moments, meeting my eyes and trying to speak. All he managed was to say ‘Crippin boys’ a few times, and asking for me to ‘watch their backs’.”

“The Crippin boys are just a couple of young street larrikins,” I explained, recalling Liberty had directed them to Mickey when they tried to offload some bling on us. “Why would poor Mickey want them looked after I wonder.”

Blackwood shrugged. “He faded fast after that. I stayed by his side for the duration. He opened his eyes occasionally, and eventually gave me the smallest, faintest smile before passing.”

“Why are we still alive?” I said softly after a long silence.

“I don’t know, Gideon,” Silas said. “He must have been watching when we found Susannah, she was freshly dead, but he didn’t attack.”

“Which means he doesn’t want us dead. Do you think…perhaps he is hoping we will find the Kebra Nagast for him?”

Silas nodded grimly. “We always have the option of stopping our search. That might stop him too.”

“Stop looking for the Major!?” Blackwood blustered. “Not on my watch.”

“I have a wife and son, Blackwood,” Silas declared.

Blackwood settled. “I understand. And you have to do what you have to do, but I will not stop.”

“We must inform Clement,” I said. “We can’t afford more suspicion coming our way.” The gentlemen agreed.

“I will no doubt be asked to do an examination,” Silas said, “But it seems beyond question the killer is the same man. I am sorry for your loss, Gideon.”

“He meant little to me personally, but Mickey was a London institution. There will be a huge gap to fill and I do not look forward to the battle that will take place to fill it,” I said glumly. “I should tell you both that I also warned Mrs Pan, last night. I paid a visit after leaving you both.”

Silas gave me a sharp look, disappointed.

---

Putting Mickey aside, we stepped into Caliban Books. It was packed with all manner of books, mostly old and fusty. A small door bell rang as we entered, and before long a typically bookish man appeared from within. “Oh! Customers! Good day, gentlemen, and madam,” he spluttered, cleaning his rounded eyeglasses. “My name is Tobias Neville, how may I be of assistance?”

---

“Good day to you, sir,” Silas smiled. “We are looking for a rare religious text and hope that it might be found amongst your impressive collection.”

“Religious, you say? Why yes, I have section just over this way, if you would follow me.”

“Don’t say the name of the book, not yet,” I whispered to Silas, who nodded.

“Of course I don’t have the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Mr Neville said with a weak laugh, “But perhaps if you can give more details of what you seek?”

Any suspicion that Mr Neville may be the mastermind behind everything going on were quickly dispelled. He appeared little more than what he was: a scholarly reader in love with his books. We did our best to walk around the exact nature of the Kebra Nagast, but eventually we had to narrow down our enquiry.

“The text we are looking for is from Abysinnia,” Silas said, narrowing his eyes. A faint hint of surprise flashed over Mr Neville’s face. “I have no texts I know of from that region,” he said quickly.

“We have it on good authority it may have passed through your store?”

Mr Neville looked confused, so I jumped in. “Sir there are several other parties also interested in said text, and we fear that they may have beaten us to the punch, so to speak.”

Silas took a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote the words Kebra Nagast before handing it to Mr Neville. “This is what we seek, sir.”

---

“This is all a bit cloak and dagger,” Mr Neville frowned. “But…yes, I have heard of this. There is only one copy that I am aware of and it is not here.”

“Have you had any enquiries about it before receiving us?” I asked.

“Well…yes. There was a man only a week or so ago who asked after this very volume.”

Ah! Progress!

“I made some enquires on his behalf,” Mr Neville continued, “And found the British Library held the only copy. I suggested Mr Richard Rivington Holmes would be the best individual to approach.”

Hiding my dismay at this revelation, I pressed. “And this man, can you describe him?”

“An odd looking gentlemen—overly tall, balding with his hair swept back in the manner of swarthy types. A great hooked nose…and a crucifix around his neck. Odd fellow.”

“A man of the cloth then?” Silas asked innocently.

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Neville said shaking his head. “A papist perhaps?”

“Did he have an accent?”

“He did but I could not place it.”

“Foreign or British?”

“Oh foreign, certainly. Tell me—this wouldn’t have anything to do with the morning news, would it?”

“Which news would that be?” Silas said.

“Why the Illustrated London,” Mr Neville explained, “It was only this morning that I recalled my conversation with gentleman on reading the terrible news of Rivington Holmes’s death.”

“I’m afraid it does,” I said. “Mr Tinsdale recommended you to us.”

Mr Neville paled. “And now they are both dead.”

“Indeed,” Silas said.

Mr Neville took a step back, suddenly scared. “Are you suggesting I am in danger?”

“It depends. Have you seen the tall gentleman again?”

“N..no. But he said he would return? Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Very. It might be better if you were not around when that happens,” Silas warned. “And you would do well to forget this conversation we have had.”

Mr Neville’s eyes widened. “I believe I will! I should have stayed on Hamstead Heath.”

“It’s lovely this time of year,” Silas agreed, giving Blackwood and I a direct look that said: time to leave. “Good day, Mr Neville.”

“I will take what you say at face value,” Mr Neville stammered as we left, “I do hope I haven’t made anything worse…”

---

“He started the whole thing!” I exclaimed.

“That may be but it’s hardly his fault,” Silas said.

“Of course not, but I am astonished. Clement needs to know that Mr Neville is in danger.”

“You can visit Edmund—”

“Please don’t call him that,” I interrupted, “And I will do nothing of the sort. He has made it quite clear that we cannot be seen together and I will respect that clarity if it kills me!”

Silas cocked an eye. “Then I will visit him, and tell him to watch this shop.”

“What’s our ancient Hungarian going to do next?” I ranted. “He’s on a rampage—three dead in twenty-four hours. Who’s left? Mr Neville, obviously, and Mrs Pan and Jimmy Chee. We must warn Mrs Pan again—he could be on his way there even now, we could catch him red-handed!”

“We can go there immediately,” Silas assured. “I think we should also consider talking to Simon. He is obviously involved, particularly now Susannah is dead.”

The mention of Simon reminded me of my opium dream. “I must confess something. You will recall when I first took opium from Mrs Pan, I heard a voice calling my name. That voice has never left me, so last night I decided to see if it would say more.”

Silas rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You smoked?”

“I did, and I don’t need your judgement,” I said defensively. “In any case this time there was no voice that I could recall, but the strangest thing happened afterwards. I found I could quote, word for word, something that seemed like a scripture. And that text asked me a question that reminded me of something Simon offered. It said, ‘Are you such a one as would live in darkness or would you know the light?'”

“Whilst I think it is nothing more than an opium dream, Gideon, we have seen many a strange thing. Remind me what Simon said?”

“He said ‘Against such a foe we would all be on the same side, n’est-ce pas?'. I don’t know why but it seems a very similar proposal: to fight the darkness from light.”

---

We took a Growler to Limehouse, interrupted Mrs Pan from her backgammon, and were escorted upstairs to her private salon—rather similar to those below, but with far nicer silk.

“Mrs Pan, I know I came to you last night, but we must warn you again: the killer of your nephew draws ever closer. He is systematically murdering everyone who has crossed his path, and I fear you may be next on his list.”

Mrs Pan crossed her hands neatly. “Thank you, Ms Harrow. I assure you my people have taken every precaution and are even now searching for this man.”

“It may not be enough,” I stressed, leaning forward. “You must double your defences. No-one has been able to stop this monster and overconfidence will surely lead to downfall.”

“It is in hand, Ms Harrow.”

Exasperated, I burst out. “It is by no means ‘in hand’! Your ‘people’ are searching? Then how has this man killed three people in the last day without you seeing him a single time? How has he escaped your ‘people’ with such ease if you have it ‘in hand’?! You must take more precautions!”

I was surprised at the fervour with which I spoke; did this mean I cared for Mrs Pan’s safety? Or was I merely voicing my own fears? I was soon to find out.

“Your eels reach deeper into the bowels of this city than I understood,” she continued. “I will be candid with you: my resources have turned up far less than yours. Tell me, how is it this man found me?”

“I was loath to tell you earlier,” I frowned, “But there seems little point keeping the secret any longer. It was Mickey Two Feet who sent the killer to you. I have known this for some time but, as you will I hope understand, I chose to keep his involvement hidden. But Mickey is now dead.”

Mrs Pan remained inscrutable. “I repeat, your eels run deep, Ms Harrow.”

“Are you suggesting I am somehow to blame for your misfortune?” I growled. Her confidence was breath-taking. Here I was offering information and forewarning, and her response was to berate and harangue. She did not need my advice. She was not worried in the slightest. She had her crews on the lookout. I was merely an eel tangling the sewers in which she operated.

“You are a victim of fate,” Mrs Pan said impassively, “I feel for you.”

The nerve. “It is not fate, Mrs Pan,” I scowled. “And I am no more responsible for this horror than you!”

“And yet a man came to me and embroiled my family in something I cannot extricate myself from, Ms Harrow,” Mrs Pan said sharply.

I jumped to my feet. “I came here again in good faith, Mrs Pan, and by accusing me you betray that faith! We will take our leave, now,” I said glaring at Silas and Blackwood, before storming out.

---

The gentlemen did not leave.

“Did you notice, Silas,” I said coldly, “That when you suggested we depart Mr Neville’s establishment, we did. And yet when I suggested same you did nothing of the sort?”

“Gideon. I needed to check on Jimmy—who is doing well, you will be pleased to know—and to make amends with Mrs Pan.”

“Amends!?”

Silas went on to claim Mrs Pan meant no disrespect, but I knew better; she meant precisely what she said.

“She forgave you, and even compared you to a hawk, and said she did no wish to be in that steely gaze,” Silas protested.

“Forgave?” I spat. “Forgave?!

She does not trust me? Very well.

This city will be mine.

---

As promised, Silas visited Clement. It did not go well.

“I have had a day,” Clement groaned when Silas entered, “And now here you are.”

“Clement, please. I have performed the autopsies, as promised. And it wasn’t us that fed the newspapers, as I’m sure you know despite sicking Strange on Gideon.” Apparently Clement had the good grace to flush slightly at that.

“In any case,” Silas continued “I have more news.”

Clement sunk his head into his hands. “Of course you do.”

“There is a shop in Islington run by a gentleman by the name of Mickey Two Feet—”

“Mikhail Tofitski,” Clement corrected.

“Ah. Of course. Well, he’s dead.”

Clement looked up. “Dead? How do you know?”

“Mr Blackwood visited this morning to collect something and found him dead, killed in much the same way as our other victims.”

“Slashed?”

“Yes. We also visited a bookstore, Caliban Books in Cecil Court, and we think the proprietor, a Mr Neville, is also in danger.”

Clement sighed. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“It was he who, inadvertently, set the killer upon Mr Rivington Holmes and Mr Tinsdale. A Hungarian, it seems.”

“Hungarian?”

“Not Mr Neville—Mr Tofitski said he believed the murderer was a Hungarian, and now we know his lineage I give that opinion more credence. Now you know as much as we.”

“How magnanimous of you. So to cut to the chase you believe there is a dead dwarf in Islington, and a worried bookseller in Cecil Court?”

Silas nodded his assent.

“Dr Hawthorne do you have a day job? And do you attend to it?”

Silas looked suspicious “Of course I do.”

“And is there any point in me suggesting you return to your work and leave this other work to the experts? I understand our ineptitude is beyond your functional comprehension—”

“Clement that is beneath you,” Silas snapped. “I have never suggested such. I am merely doing what any citizen would, and doing you the courtesy—”

It was Clement’s turn to interrupt. “The perception from my point of view is of a crime boss attempting to coerce the course of justice, and a well meaning citizen attempting to direct the constabulary! Do you imagine how those two things are differentiated from my point of view?!”

“Enlighten me,” Silas scoffed.

“NOT AT ALL!”

“Queen Victoria thinks we’re trustworthy so perhaps you should too!” Silas glowered. “I am sick of having this same conversation, Clement—get over it!

This time it was Silas’s turn to storm out.

---

The final surprise of the day was the arrival of a hand delivered, gold-embossed envelope. Inside was an invitation to attend The Asklepieion on Ebury Square to meet with Tristan St John Mortimer, Permanent Undersecretary to the Foreign Secretary.

Tonight.

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