The Hidden War; a fiction- first part, second to follow shortly
Prologue
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:27th May, 1763; Bristol docks- quarter past nine in the evening
Andrew West scowled into the midnight fog, cursing his sorry state of affairs. He was the night-watchmen, his task was to ensure that beggars, harlots, thieves and scoundrels did not interfere with the proceedings; a dull task since the streets were almost dead. Three ships, six sailors on the shore, some very drunk, working at loading or unloading, some taking a piss. And a small dog, scratching itself.
Andrew was not at all a happy man. This was a dead-end post, he knew full well. All because he spoke his mind once too often. He hadn't done anything technically wrong, but the captain made it clear, the pig-faced, overpaid, cowardly little man, that his future would be spend clearing blood and sick off the cobbles and sending the odd whore on her way. Fantastic. Splendid. Bugger.
Then he saw it; through the mist, a ship the like of which he rarely saw. A Russian brigantine, the colours hanging limply in the damp air. And it smelt. Not badly, but differently; a ship could carry the smells of day to day living, the salty reek of urine down its sides, the putrid latrines, the fragrance of rum and spirits, of powder, of the hold, of sweat. This ship though, smelt of old rooms, long neglected, the musty smell of old churchyards and dry earth.
The ship pulled in, and the gangplank lowered- no crew could be seen- but Andrew could not find it in himself to complain, because as he watched a lady made her way down onto the dock, and came towards him.
He had not seen anyone like her before, and doubted he ever would again. Her skin was snow-white, but shone like moonlight, even in the fog. Her hair was blond but very pale, she was tall for women of that time, perhaps five feet and nine. And she had green eyes, that matched the emeralds she wore in a band on her head, and on her neck, and her arms...and legs. The more Andrew looked at her, the harder he found it to look away. And she was right in-front of him!
"I h'am... very sorry to bozher h'who att zis time, but I nedt a place to sthay unt I doon't knhowe the zcity, can you... take me somevere zsir?"
The accent did it. Andrew could have said any number of things; Where are your papers? Who are you? Where is the crew? Why does your ship frighten me so? In fact, why do you frighten me a little, to? And lastly, I have another three hours before my shift finishes.
Instead he said; "Of course, madam; their is a rather reputable Inn only two streets away, I would gladly take you there"
"Vunderful! But you look so tired, Mr...?"
"A-Andrew..Miss?..." He said hopefully
"Hwho can caul me...Anna. You look so tired, Andrew, It would be no trouble for me if you...stayed the night"
Blindly, and perhaps foolishly, he agreed. Andrew did not return to work the following evening, he never did, in fact.
three days later, Oxford, an alleyway in an disreputable part of town
"Young masters, I can assure you, the body is very fresh, I found it in the river only two hours past, the gentlemen in question has not been long dead, he should be exactly what you need"
"But how did he die? This is important Mr Green, we've had cadavers off you before that have been ruined; cut to pieces or just messed up on the inside from the devil-drink, how can you be sure this one won't be the same?"
"You can see him yourself young Tom; the body is a little pale perhaps but otherwise it is intact, the man was young so even if he had too much to drink and drowned his body should be rather healthy"
"I hope you understand Nicholas that it is vital that we get good specimens, we need to practice certain techniques of medicine that would be fatal on a live patient if done incorrectly; it might be illegal to take the bodies of the dead for this but the quota is too small, what you are doing for us may save lives!"
"I am well aware of that, Master William, which is why I brought you here in such haste; after threescore years on this earth I haven't found so fresh a corpse, if you take it now, you will learn much"
The two young medical students had a quick look at the body under lamp-light, it was still on the riverbank, where Mr Green had dragged it out. It was indeed, very fresh.
"Very well, thank you again Mr Green, we are very grateful to you" The clink of coins passing hands
"And goodnight"
Before the two men bent down to pick up the figure below them, and hence see it up close, the eyes opened- blue eyes, blood-shot and cruel. The lips pulled apart briefly, showing porcelain-white teeth, and a red tongue that licked them, almost like a starving beast...
The Lady and the Watchman
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
The same evening, an hour later
The woman who called herself Anna daintily proceeded through the cobbled streets of Oxford. Enjoying the sites, and the moonlight. This country was so.... alive. So refreshing, after the years spent in her homeland. She would make her home here. She stopped. Removing a white glove from her left hand, she licked her finger and held it to the breeze, then licked it again. The lady replaced her glove, and continued onward, twirling her parasol in the english fog.
Molly had had a good night. More clients than usual, none to rough. All heavy tippers. It was because of this that she was in an unusually charitable mood, if things were otherwise, she would have walked right past the slumped figure in the alleyway and things may have been different.
"Sir.....Sir? Are you alright? The night is awfully cold to be sleeping rough, would you like to come with me? I know a very good inn that.."
The man laughed, as if hearing an old joke, though not cruelly. He rose to his feet in a single fluid motion, and suddenly Molly saw his face. Sharp, handsome, a little pale but that was understandable in this weather.. and his eyes, a wonderful, soft sky-blue.
"It is very kind of you to walk up to a complete stranger and offer hospitality so freely... especially for a young lady in your line of work" Molly blushed at this... funny, she thought, he makes me feel like a child
"Unfortunately I have other plans"
At that moment, out of nowhere, two pairs of hands- cold, rigid, lifeless hands- grabbed Molly by each shoulder, as she began to scream the man touched her lips with his finger, at once she began to feel drowsy. She murmured in fear when she looked at the man again; his cloak had fallen away, and his figure was considerably taller, melding into the shadows around him. And his eyes. Not baby-blue any more; these were as sharp and cold as glaciers, and bloodshot to boot. He gestured with his hand, the two minions walked off into the night, and Molly almost glided into the monster's arms.
"What....what are you doing to me?"
"Don't worry about them... they were just a snack. But you... I find it awfully lonely, being dead. You will walk with me under the stars" As he bent down, his mouth opening into a razor-sharp maw, Molly smiled.
The lady came into the alley, and frowned.
"I've sired you for three days and already you make yourself a companion, do I mean anything to you Andrew?"
"S-sorry mistress, but I saw her and I had to have her, she's so pretty and-"
The lady smiled, showing sharp, pointed canines that shone in the night.
"It's quite alright, Andrew. We were all young once. I was expecting this. Though about the other matter...?"
Andrew snapped his fingers. Five slumped figures came into view. Two young men, with bloodstained overalls, one old man, holding an oar, and two ladies of the evening, who had not quite so taken Andrew's fancy.
"Vunderful! This is an excellent start, child! When he hears of this, the Master will be pleased!"
Andrew smiled, blood dripping from his lips and running down his chin. Molly began to stir in his arms.
The Rake
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:a few weeks later, Devon, several miles along the trunk road between Exeter and Bristol
Peter Hopkin was having a good night. A very good night. Three coaches so far had come past, each with wealthy passengers. In particular there was the second, carrying only an unattended heiress. Peter was far too practical to turn down what she was offering and he left her cab after nearly an hour, richer by more than just a few guineas worth of jewels...
It was an hour from dawn, and Peter knew that no more cabs would be on the way until midmorning, so he made his way back to a nearby inn, wordlessly plonked a single jade bracelet in payment and was asleep before he hit the pillow.
Some hours later he woke with a start. There was a man at the end of his bed, a familiar man, his former employer. He was holding a flintlock right at his chest.
"Now.. William, or is it Peter? What name are you using here? I'm terribly sorry to disturb your voluntary retirement from public service but something has come up. I would have shot you here and now without a moments hesitation but we have a little problem that we require you to take care of. You will be paid 300 pounds a month plus expenses, get dressed, the cab is waiting"
Exposition
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The cab was plush. He was sitting opposite two burly men with the most pitiless clerk in London, who had a warrant for his death for several charges that technically constituted high treason and two of heresy, but nevertheless Peter felt slightly at ease due to the quality of his transport. The clerk reached into his jacket, making Peter flinch, until he saw it was just a dossier, a rather thick volume bound in dull, worn black leather, with so many tags that the inner edge was slightly thicker than the spine.
"There have been.. reports, over the last few weeks. Disturbing reports. It all began on the 20th of May, no more than a month ago; from what we have been told at around dusk the Frigate Kreyser went missing from St Petersburg, the man on watch was found dead, his throat cut and the weather was too foggy to allow a proper search.
A week later the Kreyser turns up in Bristol, we assume on the night of the 27th since the watchmen, a man named Andrew West, 31, formerly a fisherman, went missing. His relief, a Mr Thomas Drakeson, searched the ship, the crew of sixty all accounted for; dead, all of them bled white with no obvious sign of injury. They're currently held in an icehouse in Bristol, locked up.
Three days later, things get even worse. This time in Oxford. As far as we can tell, and this is an ongoing investigation.. one hundred people missing. Vanished. Gone. Normally the watch house there can expect roughly one missing person report a night, and even then the person in question usually turns up after a few days, either dead or in another woman's bed"
At this the clerk's face flickered, a wry smile in an otherwise emotionless countenance.
"But three weeks ago, between seven o'clock in the evening and three in the morning one hundred disappear.. though we have a few reports that might shed light on the matter"
The clerk pulled out a slim volume,the writing was scrawled and blotched, but the general message was clear enough and the repetition of the accounts hammered it home.
".. I see why you want my services"
"indeed"
"I will require alchemical materials and equipment, three full gallons of holy water, ten cavalrymen from the cold stream guards, a priest, as many silver stakes as you can make, full, unlimited access to the Black Library in Westminster and several pints of brandy for each man and myself"
"brandy"
"They can't use the glamour when you're slightly drunk, the more powerful they are the drunker you have to be"
"Fine, you will have everything you ask for, so long as you can keep this matter secret and put an end to it before it gets out of hand"
Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver cross on a chain.
"With all due respect, your Grace, this is already out of hand. We need to find them. Now"
Ritual
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:5th of July, The Church of St Nicholas, Islip, six miles north of Oxford
Candles guttered in the draft and the roof gently leaked. Islip had once been a bustling place. But then the farming gentry hired new machines, wages went down and rent went up, so the community shrank.
The priest prayed in the light of the Hay Moon. The wind stopped, the candles went out, one by one. The priest stopped praying. He reached into a hollow in the wall, and pulled out a cross and bible.
The stained windows all exploded in unison, filling the air with glass powder. The priest didn't flinch.
Daintily, the Lady stepped across the threshold, and glanced passively at the sad temple.
"My my.. how qviant"
"Have you come to beg forgiveness, witch?"
The lady tittered, as if a fawning admirer had been particularly charming
"Not akzachtly... I reqvire your house of Sahnctity that I might defile it, and your dead inherred here zat I might raize zem for dark purposes."
"Over my cold dead body" The priest's eye's were blazing, cold as a glacier. Even in these late days the light of faith could be a shield.
A Wolf howled in the Witching Hour.
The priest's body lay prone on the floor, his head pointing to the Morning Star, his right hand to the East and his left to the West, his feet were bound three times with yarrow chord and his bare flesh inscribed in inhuman text from his own blood, his mouth was gagged with goatskin. Around his figure the acolytes had painted the path of the morning star, the pentagram.
The priest felt groggy. The Lady had drugged him, he was sure, then her thralls had held him down whilst she came to him, it took all his will not to give in to her impious revelries. Whatever happened to his body, he had prayed that God would receive his soul taintless and pure. The Scarlet Woman stood bare in front of the altar, the holy text open in her debauched hands. As she spoke the serpentine syllables the pages flashed with shadowy light, the walls glowed with sickly pallor and her followers shrieked with joy. At the climax, she grabbed the cross on the altar, turned it on its head and jabbed it with inhuman might into the table. Dark blood seeped out as she twisted the symbol into the grain. Crimson light came down from the sky, as it struck the temple roof the gravestones, the ground blackened and throbbed with unholy energies.
The ground began to move. The Lady laughed.
Post Mortem
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:two days later, dawn
As the coach rode through the gentle Oxfordshire countryside not a single sound was heard. The clay and cobble road steadily gave way to ash and dust. No living thing stirred. Not a peep of birdsong, nor faint rumination of nightly owls and beasts returning home. The land was dead. In Islip itself, the atmosphere was worse still. Twelve men came into the village, to find that the area was completely depopulated. The houses were defiled
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