Pax Britannia: Human Nature (38 page)

He sluggishly staggered to his feet once more as the chimera bore down on him. With the creature filling his entire field of vision, Ulysses saw the blistering flesh again, great red wheals forming in other places now.

For a moment, he almost believed that the monster's charging run was going to take it off the edge of the cliff, the abomination unable to slow itself in time before hurling both Ulysses and itself over the precipice and into the sea.

Barely on his feet, he bowled himself clear of the great talon-scythe.

As the monster dug all of its remaining arthropod limbs into the soft turf before the fence, Ulysses suddenly found himself caught in the cage it had made of its claws. He was trapped.

He looked up at the pallid underbelly of the beast. There, sticking out of its reptilian flesh, was the glinting pommel of his sword. Reaching up, he grabbed the bloodstone hilt and pulled. The blade came free with an obscenely wet sucking gasp.

Pulling himself upright within the embrace of the abomination, the swelling blisters mere inches from his face now - the embryonic forms of something horribly familiar squirming within the iridescent mother-of-pearl fluid of their birthing sacs - Ulysses brought the blade up cleanly and parried the panicked thrusting of the creature's own chitin blade.

As the monster's talon slid free of his sword, Ulysses twisted his wrist sharply to deliver a downward cutting stroke of his own. His old left arm flopped onto the windswept grass at the cliff's edge.

"Let's see how you like it!" Ulysses said, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

The dreadful raging screams of the beast suddenly ceased, replaced by a single, breathless cry. The Umbridge-chimera reeled backwards as gouts of thick black blood pumped from the severed brachial artery at the distended limb's second joint. The creature struck the fence, two of its claw-tipped limbs thrusting through the metal mesh, while others pushed against the wire netting on the near side.

Ulysses stepped in again, bringing his blade back up in a sweeping arc. The tip of the bloodied weapon made contact again, denying the old man any memorable last words, even if Umbridge had been able to articulate them. Ulysses' final blow had half cut through the fibrous muscles of the snaking neck, shearing through the creature's oesophagus and windpipe.

The severed stem writhing like a salted slug, the old man's head flopped impossibly to the right. For a moment the thing's staring eyes locked onto his and, in that one look Ulysses thought he saw something that might have passed for a trace of humanity within the dead-eyed fish stare he found there.

And then the creature's body began to fall, toppling almost languidly off the edge of the windswept cliff. First went the heavy shark's tail, the cancroid legs tearing the tangled fence from its roots under the great weight of the body, then the mish-mash of a torso, its flesh bubbling like boiling mud, then the trailing primate and crustacean limbs, and lastly the snake-like neck and the half-human head, gasping for air like a landed fish.

Ulysses staggered to the edge of the cliff, dropping to his hands and knees at the spot where the monster had fallen. He felt almost ready to go off the edge after it.

Beneath him the monster somersaulted through the air, blood spilling from a multitude of wounds to stomach, limb-stumps, face and neck.

The splash of the abomination entering the sea was lost amidst the white-water torrent of the breakers crashing against the black rocks. And then the abomination was claimed by the hungry waves, the dark surge drawing the vivisect's twitching body down into the freezing, stygian depths.

The roiling waves released the rocks again, pulling back from the rugged coastline, but the creature's carcass was gone. And with the creature gone, Ulysses' body gave in at last.

He collapsed onto the cold, wet grass at the edge of the cliff - the North Sea wind pulling at his clothes and pain-wracked body, stinging his face with cold - and let blissful unconsciousness claim him.

Epilogue

Plenty More Fish in the Sea

"So, this is goodbye," Jennifer said, smiling despite the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. Steam gushed around them as the train prepared to depart.

Standing there, face to face on the platform, Ulysses gently took her hands in his. He caressed her fingers with the soft black leather of his gloves, although inside he was wincing as his right hand throbbed with pain. Plenty of rest, the doctor who had treated him after his wild night on the moors had said.

But Ulysses felt like he had rested enough. He had slept for the whole of the following day, after his battle with the Umbridge-chimera, and had not woken again until well past nine on the morning after that. He had stirred to find Jennifer waiting anxiously at his bedside. He soon discovered that she too was staying at Mrs Scoresby's guesthouse now, as apparently Hunter's Lodge had also suffered the ravages of fire. "Well, they do say these things come in threes," Ulysses had remarked to Nimrod later, in private.

For a moment he had not known where he was or what the girl was doing there. As he came to wakefulness, the events of the previous forty-eight hours had seemed like nothing more than some hideous nightmare. But any such wishful thinking, on Ulysses' part had been banished by the reality of the pain he felt when he tried to move. Every muscle in his body felt either stiff or as if it had been damaged in some way. When eventually he pulled back the sheet, persisting in his struggle to rise, he found his body was a patchwork of bandages and plasters, that covered a myriad cuts and bruises. Nimrod had done a good job of taking care of him - as always.

But there had been one thing that his skilled manservant could do nothing about, not now, and that was his replacement left arm. The limb that he had reclaimed from the vivisect had been packed in ice and kept in the guesthouse's cold cellar - unbeknownst to Mrs Scoresby - but Ulysses feared that the flesh would have begun to necrotise before they could get it to a surgeon with the skill to graft it back onto his body. No, it looked like the chimpanzee's arm was there to stay.

And despite having been prescribed three days of bed rest by the local doctor, if not a whole week, Ulysses had insisted in not only getting out of bed, but of also getting dressed - although it took him rather longer than usual - and going about his business as if nothing untoward had happened at all. The rest of that day had been spent sifting through the smouldering embers of Jennifer's home and trying to make sense of all that had happened over the past few days, while Inspector Allardyce led the local police in an investigation of the burnt-out ruins of Umbridge House.

It crossed Ulysses' mind that the inspector didn't seem overly bothered that his visit to his wife's family had turned into a busman's holiday.

Rest was what the doctor had ordered for Ulysses, but in his own expert medical opinion there would be time to rest later. The curious case of the Whitby Mermaid was not yet closed.

"Yes. Goodbye, for now," Ulysses said softly. "There are matters regarding this case that I need to tie up back in London."

"So, you're going after the one who supplied Doktor Seziermesser with his flesh-melding potion? This Alchemist?"

"Indeed I am."

"There's more to this than you're telling me, isn't there?"

Ulysses stared into Jennifer's eyes remembering the distinctive aniseed and rancid meat smell of the serum, as well as the nifty box of tricks they had found embedded in the flesh at the base of the Barghest's skull. He had encountered both before, when they had been used in conjunction by certain elements attempting to bring about the end of the British Empire.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

Jennifer sighed. If that was how it had to be, then so be it. "I'm going back to the Umbridge estate."

"After all that happened there?" Ulysses said, somewhat taken aback.

"The police have cleared the house, rounded up those who were in on Umbridge's scheme, those that he didn't kill in the end or that weren't burnt to a crisp by the fire," she added. "But when they came to the cellars they found them empty, apart from what was left of the good doktor, apparently."

Jennifer broke off and cast her gaze from the waiting train, the platform and the station buildings, to the headland on the other side of the Esk valley and the borders of the blasted moorland beyond.

"They're still out there," she said. "Seziermesser's experiments; his other victims. They've probably gone to ground in the caves and mines. Some might have made it to the coast. Others, who knows. But they need to be tracked down and found, so that they can be helped. And I have the expertise... to help."

Ulysses smiled. "Good for you." The girl was more resilient that he had given her credit for. It just went to prove the old adage of that which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. "If anyone can make sure that those poor wretches get the help they need, it's you," he said warmly.

"Besides," she went on, blushing, "I feel that it will go some way towards vindicating my father's work."

"He'd be proud of you, to hear you say that. Good for you."

Ulysses lent forward and kissed Jennifer softly on the lips. She pulled away, her blush deepening, but did not remove her hands from his.

A sharp whistle cut through the background hubbub of the station, informing those gathered on the platform that the twelve forty-one to London was ready to depart. It was time for last fond farewells to be shared, for passengers to board and for well-wishers to allow them to do so.

Ulysses and Jennifer remained where they were.

"Sir, I hate to intrude," Nimrod interrupted as politely as he could, "but it's time to go. The train is ready to depart."

"One minute, eh, Nimrod old chap?"

"Very good, sir," Nimrod replied with just the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Jennifer... Jenny," Ulysses began. "There's something I need to say to you, something that I don't think I've said to you once in all this."

"Yes?" she said expectantly, her face drawing close to his again.

"And that's thank you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Thank you for everything you've done. You have been, quite simply, incredible. And if there's anything I can ever do for you, whatever it is -"

"There is one thing," she said, before he could finish - the flush of colour still there in her cheeks but her eyes now staring confidently into his - and with one hand on the back of his neck pulling him close, her warm lips parted to meet his unprotesting mouth.

With the train underway, and the memory of their last lingering kiss still warm on his lips, Ulysses Quicksilver distractedly picked up that morning's copy of
The Times
. The headline read:

AILING INDUSTRIALIST DIES IN HOUSE FIRE

"We made the front page," he said, smiling grimly at Nimrod. It had taken a while for the news to filter down to London, but Umbridge Industries was one of the cornerstones on which the modern British Empire of Magna Britannia was built, so his passing had made headline news - even if all of the facts surrounding the case had not.

The morning after the incident, the local paper had gone with news of another fire, the one that had gutted St Mary's Church and resulted in the death of the Reverend Nathaniel Creed. The fire at Umbridge House and the death therein of the cancer-stricken industrialist Josiah Umbridge had only made page seven.

The boy watched the train are is rattled its way along the track, hugging the banks of the Esk as it first headed south before turning west and starting on its way across the moors. He heard the distant
clickety-clack
of its wheels on the rails and the
peep-peep
of its steam-whistle, softened almost into melody by the distance and the muffling wind sweeping across the headland above the town.

"So, are you coming or what?" a skeletally gaunt man wearing scuffed top hat and tails, and tight black leggings, called from the cavalcade of steam-wagons and horse-drawn carts.

"I'm coming!" Jacob called back as he hefted his own meagre pack onto his shoulder. He hadn't had much that he could call his own to begin with, and thanks to the fire and his father's death, he had even less. The fire and brimstone priest might not have loved him, but he had still cared for him after a manner of speaking for the last seventeen years, and Jacob would miss him, even if the recalcitrant sinner had given him a name that summed up how he felt about the impact he had had on his life, a name that translated from the Hebrew as 'usurper'.

And now that his father was gone, it was time for Jacob Creed to make his own way in the world, and not as a boy but as a man, as part of new family, one that accepted him as he was.

"I'm coming!" he called again.

Throwing the blackened shell of the church one last mournful glance, Jacob trotted after the departing wagon-train as the Circus of Wonders went on its way.

Dawn was still two hours off as George Craven started hauling in his nets after another night's fishing. He had slipped back into the old routine as easily as he had slipped into his old galoshes and sou'wester, as easily as Mrs Craven had taken on the mantle of nagging fish wife again - although now she had something else entirely to complain about.