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Next: Friday, 3 July, 1992 Up: The Revenge of Victor Previous: Dramatis Personae

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Tuesday, 30 June, 1992

Fenchurch Street, London--6:30 pm

A warm, midsummer sun cast its rays down upon a war weary London, and Brenden was comfortable as the evening breezes played about him. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, and walked towards home.

Well, his flat, if not his home. Home, that semi-reverent term that provided a basis for nostalgia and longing, was somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean, in lower New York. But, be that home, he would certainly not live there again as long as the Delphi Council existed. And that wouldn't be for very damn long if he had any say so on the matter.

A scowl crossed Llewelyn's face momentarily, as he thought of why he had had to leave the United States: High Treason, they had said. What a crock, he had said, but there were more loose cannon Spartans running around than even he could handle.

Brenden forced down the vile thoughts that threatened to creep into his head. He had happy things to ponder--namely, his upcoming wedding. He and Alice had been engaged since that fateful night climbing in the Himalayan mountains, on their way to the Forever City, where they had fought their way past the elements, Yetis, gospog, Nile Avatars--and Victor Manwaring--to reach and light the Signal Fire.

What an adventure!

Brenden's flat was in a block of three storey buildings near the Thames, reserved for military use. Of course, with his wedding in three-and-a-half weeks, he wouldn't be living in the BOQ much longer. That thought gave him a smile.

But, just now, there seemed to be some sort of commotion ahead. An ambulance sat outside of his building. The lights were flashing, but the sirens were off. Bobbies and soldiers were quite prominent.

Llewelyn pulled identification--legitimate, in fact--and shouldered his way through the crowd. In fact, he had to squeeze past milling bodies all the way up two flights of stairs to the second storey, where his apartment was located.

And, indeed, his room seemed to be the centre of attention.

The leather ident holder snapped open and shut like a sock puppet's mouth as he threaded his way down the hall. He found someone who looked vaguely in charge.

``Major, what's going on here?''

A burly uniformed man with close-cropped hair and a thick mustache, both just beginning to grey, turned towards the voice.

``Eh? Who are you? This corridor is supposed to be secured.''

The ident was visible yet again. The Major grunted, ``Well, I guess you should be here then. There's been a rather nasty event here.''

The smell of blood had already reached Brenden's nose, and he was now very certain that the stench was from his flat. ``Yeah. What happened?''

The Major pointed a knobby finger towards a knot of constables and soldiers, surrounding one ash faced private. ``That's Private Jackson over there. They're just about to debrief him, and you'll find out more than I probably know if you listen in.''

``Thank you, Major.'' Llewelyn shook his hand and moved smartly over to where Jackson was seated. The Private was white as a sheet, and his eyes stared, unblinking, at some spot on the wall. He shivered incessantly, and Brenden knew, without touching him, that his skin was clammy and sweat-covered.

A female bobby with long, dark brown hair tied into a braid was writing things down.

Jackson's heavy Cockney accent recounted the evening's events with a soft voice, as though nobody were listening, and he were just talking because it needed to be said again and again.

``I was on me rounds, at 'alf past four, an' I went by this 'ere room. An', all of a sudden, I feels this cold, this absolute numbin' chill that just goes right up me spine.

``An' I thinks to meself, 'Ain't no right for it to be like this in the bloomin' summertime!' And it warn't right, neither. I mean, I shoulda just looked in for meself, but I--I couldn't! There was somethin' in me brain that just keeps saying not t' go in there. It was like to nothin' I ever felt afore!

``So I ran downstairs, an' I sees Corporal Jennings. 'e asks me what was up, an' it's like, I just couldn't say. I could barely bloomin' talk! But I squeaks out enough that 'e knows somethin' is off the beam upstairs.

``I follows 'im up, an' we get to th' door again. An' it's even colder! It was so cold, it hurt, like me teeth were gonna crack open like frosty pavement.

``But the Corporal went in. And I could feel everything goin' kind o' soft and fuzzy, an' that I was gonna faint. I tried t' yell, but nothin' came out.

``Just as it all went black, I mean I was 'alf unconscious I guess, 'cause I couldn't see nothin' but I though I could hear--just then the Corporal screamed! Gorblimey, but I hain't never heard such an awful sound in me entire life! It was just this, you know like they say, blood-curdlin', sound!

``An' next I knew o' anythin', I was wakin' back up. The door stood all broke like it is now, an' there was somethin' sticky under me hands. An' it was red.

``I looked inside o' there, and God help me if I didn't just lose it right then. The Corporal, 'e was- 'e was-

`` 'e was all over that flat, just like you found 'im. An' I don't know 'ow long I just stood there, starin', an' screamin' meself some, I think, until you showed up.''

Brenden ran a hand over his chin, and thought just how bad that all sounded. He hadn't known Jennings all that well, but--according to whatever subliminal clues by which one judges such things--Brenden was fairly certain that Jennings was, or at least had been, a Storm Knight.

Llewelyn worked his way back over to the Major. ``Excuse me.''

The Major signed a form of some kind and sent a subordinate scurrying away. ``Yes, Count Llewelyn?''

``Would it help if I took a look around, to see if anything has been taken, or the like?''

The Major pondered. ``Yes, that couldn't hurt. Mind the lines, though.''

``Certainly.''

Llewelyn's trousers brushed up against the police line tape as he surveyed his room. The closet door had been turned to splinters. Chalk marks covered the ground in shapes that might have combined to form an entire human being; the marks encircled deep red stains that spread from the floor to every wall, and the ceiling. Pieces of Jennings still clung to the wallpaper and furniture. Such a sight flabbergasted Brenden, who recalled that the human body contains scarcely more than a gallon of blood.

Near the closet, much furniture was broken, and many things were scattered about, but nowhere else had anything been disturbed.

Brenden turned around and met the Major's gaze. Brenden shook his head. ``Nothing really to tell. I can't see anything missing, and I don't keep anything really valuable around.'' True enough--all of his weapons were in the armoury, and his monies and other important equipment safely in storage as well.

``Right. Well, we won't need the room cordoned off for more than about a week. I hope you can make other arrangements in the meanwhile.''

Brenden sighed. He would have to, too. Maybe he could impose on Father Hardy. ``I'll wire your office tomorrow, so you'll know where to reach me.''

``Very good. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, Count.''

Llewelyn nodded.

Brenden decided he was developing a real mother of a headache as he left the building. Several of his comrades were in town right now, and he would have to let them know what happened.

Why me? he thought.


next up previous
Next: Friday, 3 July, 1992 Up: The Revenge of Victor Previous: Dramatis Personae
Colin J. Wynne
1998-05-28