| |
Billings lay on the chaise-longue. His heavy head sank into the pillow. He’d finally caved in and taken a shot of morphine – the first in many months. His mind kept racing after his conversation with Clarkson, and there was nothing else he could do to relax.
He felt his whole body sinking. Descending slowly into a never-ending pit.
The happy prostitutes passed by, singing their merry song. The pillow around his ears muffled their voices, making them sound like brass instruments. Billings pictured a clarinet, a trumpet, a French horn and a tuba, marching down the street, holding hands. He smiled.
He heard footsteps out on the corridor. Was it another invitation, he wondered. That would make Clarkson happy. He looked at the door and waited for the card to be slipped under it, but nothing came.
The door handle turned. Up. Down. Up again.
Billings frowned. Why were they trying to open the door? Would the invitation not fit? Maybe it was another parcel. A new pocket mirror to replace the previous broken one.
A bang. Then another. Were they trying to break open the door? Tilly sat up and stared at the door, her ears raised, her head cocked.
Another bang. Louder this time. Somebody was throwing their whole weight against the door. Tilly cowered back and barked ferociously.
Billings tried getting up, but his limbs were too heavy.
Suddenly the door swung open. Two men in black suits appeared in the doorway. They wore animal masks: a lion and an ox.
Damn it, thought Billings. This is not good.
The two men didn’t look at Billings but kept staring at Tilly, who was barking at them from a safe distance.
“Blast it, he has a dog!” Lion said.
“It’s all right, it’s a bitch. They don’t bite. As soon as we’re in, she’ll stop barking. My Bessie is the same.” Ox stepped into the room and, sure enough, Tilly went quiet.
Billings rubbed his eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Finally, the men turned to look at him.
“Is that him?” Lion asked.
“I think so.” Ox pulled a hunting knife out of his belt and rushed towards the chaise-longue.
Billings, still dazed, tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but Ox jumped on top of him and pushed him back down.
“Go for his cock,” Lion called.
Ox pulled down the sheets. Billings pedalled his legs in the air and tried in vain to push the man off him.
Tilly began barking again. Lion was still cowering in the doorway.
“He’s moving about too much,” Ox said. “I’ll go for his finger.”
He grabbed Billings’ arm and slammed it onto the cushion. Holding the arm in place, he lifted the knife in the air.
Billings screamed and tried to pull his arm back, but he was too weak. The knife swooshed down and sliced off his little finger. It tumbled onto the floorboards and rolled away. The blood streamed out of Billings’ hand.
Tilly continued to bark.
The downstairs neighbour added to the chaos by banging his broomstick on the ceiling. “Stop that bloomin’ racket!”
Ox stood up and looked for the finger. “There it is.” He bent down and picked it up. “Look!” He held the severed finger up to his companion.
“Well done,” Lion said. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
Ox replaced the knife in his belt and joined his companion. Without giving their victim another look, they walked out of the room and descended the stairs.
Billings reached for his bleeding hand. He rolled off the chaise-longue and thudded onto the floorboards.
The neighbour banged his broom against the ceiling again. “Stop that racket, I said!”
Tilly rushed over to her master. She sniffed and licked his pale face.
The blood kept gushing. Billings wrapped the bed sheet over his bleeding hand. There was no pain – not yet – but the sight of so much blood and the morphine which still circulated in his bloodstream made him feel faint.
He lost consciousness, and his head banged onto the floorboards.
The downstairs neighbour continued banging on the ceiling. “Stop that racket right now, or I’ll fetch the police!”
***
A DULL, THROBBING PAIN woke him up from his trance. He opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him. A small, round, bespectacled man. It was Trotter.
“He’s awake! I think he’s awake.”
Who was Trotter speaking to? Billings looked around him. He was in his own room, on the chaise-longue. There was somebody else there, standing by his desk. A young gentleman with a rosy face and wavy auburn hair. It was Clarkson.
He came towards him. “Are you all right there, Billings?”
“What are you doing here?” Billings could hardly speak. His body felt numb, his head hazy.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“My finger.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“A little.”
“The doctor gave you a heavy dose of morphine.”
So that’s why he felt so weak. More morphine. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position.
“No, no, don’t sit up.” Clarkson pushed him gently back down. “The doctor says you mustn’t. You lost a lot of blood, you know. You’ll faint if you do.”
“The doctor?” Billings mumbled.
“At the hospital. Don’t you remember? You’ve been to the hospital.”
Billings looked down at his hand. It had been bandaged. And the bed sheets had been stripped.
“What happened to my sheets?”
“I threw them away, Mr Billings.” It was Trotter who answered. “There was no way those stains would come out. And the floorboards will need repainting too. The blood dripped right through them into the apartment downstairs. That’s how he found you.”
“Who?
“Your downstairs neighbour. He came up to see what was going on and saw you lying on the floor. He told me the whole story when I came to work this morning. I rushed to the hospital straight away, and then on to Scotland Yard to fetch Detective Sergeant Clarkson.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Clarkson asked.
“They cut my finger off.”
“Who did?”
“Two men.”
“Do you know who they were?”
Billings shook his head. “They wore masks.”
“Masks?”
“A lion and an ox.”
Clarkson frowned. “The neighbour didn’t mention any masks. He just said that he saw two men in black suits come down from your room.”
“Perhaps they took them off,” Trotter suggested.
“They must’ve been members of the Sons of Cain,” Clarkson concluded. “But why the devil did they cut off your finger?”
Billings pushed himself up again and attempted to stand up.
“What are you doing?” Clarkson pushed him back onto the seat. “You’re not supposed to get up.”
“But I want to get the card.”
“What card?”
“In my desk drawer. A card from Wolf Augustus. He’ll know.”
Clarkson went to the desk and pulled out the drawer. It was filled with calling cards. “What did you say his name was?”
“Wolf Augustus. Manuscript hunter.”
Clarkson rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a card. “Is this it?” He held it up for Billings to see.
“Yes.” Billings stood up but immediately felt faint. He wobbled and nearly fell over. Trotter was just able to catch him.
Clarkson frowned. “I told you, Billings. You’re too weak. You lost a lot of blood.”
Trotter helped him back onto the chaise-longue.
“Now, who is this Wolf Augustus?” Clarkson asked.
“He’s an expert. He knows about secret esoteric societies. We must talk to him.”
“We’ll go tomorrow.”
“No. Now.” He attempted to get up again, but Trotter stopped him.
“We’re going tomorrow, Billings. Or I can go on my own if you prefer.”
***
WOLF AUGUSTUS LIVED in one of the large houses on Queensgate.
The door was opened by a dark-skinned man wearing a white sherwani and red turban. He stood rigidly in the doorway, his arms by his sides, and nodded at the two detectives. “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I be of service?”
Clarkson was taken aback by the man’s exotic appearance. “Um... Good morning. My name is Detective Sergeant Clarkson, and this” – he pointed at his companion – “is Mr Billings.”
Billings frowned. Mr Billings. How ugly his name sounded without a title in front of it.
“We’d like to speak to Mr Wolf Augustus.”
“Certainly, sir. One moment, please.”
The Indian butler retreated into the house, leaving the door ajar. Billings and Clarkson took the opportunity to look inside the house. A red runner over the white marble floor led from the door to the staircase. The ochre-coloured walls were decorated with exotic ornaments from faraway places: African masks, pictures of Hindu deities, Ottoman miniatures, shrunken heads from the Amazon.
Augustus appeared from the living room. He was dressed in a shabby brown djellaba – the kind worn by Moroccan goat-herders. He was barefoot. His soles and toenails were dirty. His thick, uncombed hair was matted to his head.
“Yes?” he said, looking from Clarkson to Billings.
Clarkson looked him up and down, struggling to understand what a man with such a pathetic appearance would be doing in a house like this. “Are you Mr Wolf Augustus?”
“I am.”
“The owner of this house?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Clarkson from the Metropolitan Police, and this is Mr Billings. You have met him before.”
Augustus looked at Billings. “I have?”
“In the library,” Billings clarified. “We talked about Lilith.”
“Oh, yes. That’s right.”
“We’d like to ask you some questions regarding an ongoing investigation,” Clarkson said. “May we come in?”
Augustus hesitated. “Well... if you must.” He stepped back reluctantly. He called out to his butler. “Adesh, bring us some tea. Follow me.”
Augustus led them to the living room, which looked as unconventional as the rest of the house. Sheets of scarlet silk hung from the centre of the ceiling to the corners of the room, making it look like a tent. On the floor were strewn various Persian mats. Clusters of coloured glass-paned lanterns hung in each corner.
“Sit down,” Augustus instructed.
The detectives looked around them. There were no chairs. Were they supposed to sit on the mats? Augustus dropped onto one of four large cushions against the wall. Billings and Clarkson followed his example.
“Now, what is it you want?” Augustus asked.
Billings answered, “When I met you at the library, you warned me about the Sons of Cain and Daughters of Lilith.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, I think I’ve been attacked by them.”
Augustus looked at the detective’s bandaged hand. “What happened to you?”
“Two men broke into my room last night and cut off my little finger.”
Augustus winced. “Ouch!”
“Then they picked the severed finger up off the floor and walked out with it.”
There was a pause. Billings waited for a reaction. There wasn’t one.
“So, what precisely is it you want from me?” Augustus asked.
“Well, I... I just wanted to know why they did that.”
Augustus shrugged. “I have no idea, Mr Billings. I have nothing to do with that society.”
“I thought perhaps it might have something to do with a magic ritual.”
“Possibly.”
There was another pause.
Augustus began picking at the calluses on his feet.
Why was Augustus being so obtuse, Billings wondered. He’d been far more forthcoming the last time they spoke.
The awkward silence was broken by the butler entering the room with the tea tray. He placed the round brass tray on the ground and squatted to pour tea from an Arabic teapot into small gold and green coloured glasses.
“Help yourselves,” Augustus said, picking up a glass.
Clarkson grabbed his glass and took a sip. He pulled a face. “Oh dear. I thought it was tea.”
“It is tea,” Augustus said. “Mint tea.”
“Mint tea?”
“From Arabia.”
Clarkson looked around him. “You like Arabian things, don’t you?”
“There are many places that I like, Detective Sergeant. Now, you said you wanted to talk to me about an ongoing investigation. Am I to take it that Mr Billings’ injured finger is the cause of said investigation?”
Billings frowned. Injured finger?
Clarkson shook his head. “I am investigating two other cases which I believe are linked. The man whose body parts keep washing up on the riverbank. Perhaps you’ve read about it?”
“I have.”
“And another dead woman who was fished out of the river a couple of days ago. We have reason to believe the three incidents are connected.”
“So, what is it you want from me?”
“Mr Billings tells me you know about magic.”
“I know nothing about magic. I am a manuscript hunter. I travel the world looking for ancient manuscripts and sell them.”
Tired of the man’s evasiveness, Billings leaned forward and took over. “Have you sold any manuscripts to the Sons of Cain?”
“I have.”
“What kind of manuscripts?”
“What do you mean what kind of manuscripts?”
“When I met you at the library, you mentioned something about grimoires?”
Clarkson leaned into his companion and whispered, “What are grimoires?”
Billings whispered back, “Books of spells.”
“I came across some ancient Greek papyri during my last trip to Egypt,” Augustus explained. “I sold these to the Sons of Cain.”
“And do those papyri contain spells?”
“Some.”
“And do the spells involve body parts?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You haven’t read them?”
“Of course I’ve read them.”
“Then why don’t you know?”
Augustus frowned. “If you know anything about esoteric texts, Mr Billings, then you’ll know that they are written in a cryptic manner. Yes, the extracts do mention parts of the body, but in what way, if any, they are connected to magic spells is open to interpretation. I am not the man to interpret this.”
“Who is?”
“Well, presumably the person who bought the texts from me.”
“And who was that?”
“I don’t know his name.”
Billings raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know his name?”
“I know him by his assumed name.”
“And what is his assumed name?”
Augustus hesitated. “He called himself Frater Sapienti.”
Billings and Clarkson exchanged glances.
“Where and when did this transaction take place?” Billings asked.
“Seven years ago, in a hotel room in Paris.”
“Do you know where Frater Sapienti is now?”
“No.”
“Do you know why the Sons of Cain cut off my finger?”
“How would I know that?”
“You claim to know nothing about the Sons of Cain, but clearly you know more than you’re letting on. So, I’ll ask you again. Why do you think the Sons of Cain cut off my finger?”
Augustus paused before replying. “Perhaps you fell foul of them.”
“Fell foul? How?”
“Well, you’re not supposed to talk about them when you are a member, and clearly you have.”
“But how did they know?”
“They have ears everywhere.”
––––––––
BILLINGS MARCHED DOWN the street, fury welling inside him.
“He was being evasive.”
He didn’t notice that Clarkson was tagging along behind him, struggling to keep up.
“He wasn’t like this when I met him in the library. He’s changed. Something has changed. They got to him.”
Clarkson stopped to catch his breath. “Will you slow down, Billings. You’re running around like a maniac.”
Billings stopped and turned to face him. “I’m angry, Clarkson. They cut off my finger.” He raised his bandaged hand. “My damned finger!”
“Yes, all right, Billings. I know you’re upset.”
“We need to find this Frater Sapienti. He’s behind all this. You must show me the case files.”
“I can’t do that, Billings.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a civilian now, Billings. The case files are confidential.”
“But surely...” He looked wounded.
Clarkson put his hand on Billings’ shoulder. “This is what we’ll do. You’re coming ’ome with me.”
“What for?”
“You can’t stay in that room. What if they come back and kill you?”
“They’re not going to come back.”
“How do you know?”
“What about my dog?”
“Take ’er with you.”
“What about your wife?”
“She’ll love to ’ave you.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“You’re coming back with me, Billings. I’m not taking no for an answer. Let’s go to your room and fetch your stuff.”
***
SUSAN CLARKSON WAS coming down the stairs with the laundry basket just as Clarkson opened the door. She stopped on a step and frowned. “What’re you doin’ home so early?”
“’Ello, luv, look who I bumped into.”
He grabbed Billings’ arm and pulled him closer.
Susan Clarkson froze. Billings nodded at her, but she didn’t reciprocate.
“You remember John Billings, don’t you?” Clarkson asked.
“What’s he doin’ here?”
“His home’s been broken into. He was attacked.” He grabbed Billings’ bandaged hand and lifted it up for his wife to see. “I told him he could spend a few nights on the couch.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
Billings frowned. “Maybe I should just...” He picked his bag off the pavement and turned away, but Clarkson grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“No, don’t go. Susan don’t mind. Do you, Suse?” Without waiting for a reply, he took the bag off Billings and carried it towards the back room.
Billings followed reluctantly. “Come on, Tilly,” he said.
Susan Clarkson looked horrified as Billings walked past her with his dog on the lead. “Samuel, I need to talk to you!”
“In a moment, Suse. Just let me get Billings settled in first.”
Entering the back room, Clarkson took some sheets and a towel from the dresser and threw them on the couch. “You know how to make a bed, don’t you?”
Billings nodded.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. I just need a word with the rib.”
Clarkson retreated back into the hallway while Billings spread the bed sheets over the sofa. Clarkson and his wife spoke in whispers, but Billings heard every word.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“What?”
“Bringing a man like that into our house?”
“A man like what?”
“I don’t want him here, Samuel. You get rid of him before the lil’uns come back.”
“Why?”
“You know why. I don’t want them to see him.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Suse. Billings is harmless.”
“If he’s so harmless, then why did he get sacked?”
“He weren’t sacked. He left of his own accord because of his back.”
“That’s rubbish and you know it! He got sacked because he was found fucking another man!”
“Susan, don’t be coarse.”
“How did you meet up with him anyway?”
“He came to visit me at the Yard.”
“Oh, he came to visit you?”
“He had some information on a case I’m working on.”
“He’s after you.”
“What do you mean he’s after me?”
“You better watch your back, Samuel Clarkson, coz that man is after you. He’s been after you for years.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Suse. Billings ain’t no homosexual. That’s just a malicious rumour spread by the old maids at the Yard.”
“Well, I’m not spending a night under this roof with that man. Either you get rid of him or the lil’uns and I will go to my mother’s.”
“Come on, Suse. I can’t ask Billings to go back home. They broke into his room. Sliced off his finger.”
“His finger?”
“Cut it right off. Two men in masks.”
“And you bring him ’ere?”
“He’s safe ’ere.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Sam. That promotion’s gone to your head! You’ve gone off your rocker! Well, I’m telling you this: I ain’t staying in this house with that man!”
“Oh, Suse!”
“I’m going to my mother’s! Come and fetch me and the children when he’s gone!”
Billings heard the front door slam. He sighed. This was a mistake.
Clarkson approached.
Billings quickly grabbed a pillow and began plumping it.
“Everything all right?” Clarkson asked. He was smiling, but Billings could see by the tense expression on his face that he was shaken.
Billings smiled back. “Yes. The couch looks very comfortable.”
“Good.” Clarkson shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Um... The rib’s gone off to her mother’s for a few days.”
“Has she?”
“Yes. Her mother’s not well. She’s gone to take care of her.” Another smile. “So, you came just at the right time. You can keep me company.”
“We can work on that case together.”
Clarkson frowned. “Billings, I told you already. You’re a civilian now.”
“Stop being so stubborn, Clarkson. You can use my help and you know it. Bring those case files back home tonight and we can have a look at them together.”