Grey, with a smug grin on his face, demanded my revolver, before handing it to Sir Magnus. He then went to drag Louisa away from her newly-found father. The poor girl resisted, tears filling her eyes, desperate to not lose contact with the man she had until moments before not known existed. As soon as that grinning fiend put a finger on her I made a move to make him wish he hadn’t, but he turned sharply and brought his gun up.
“I really think you should do as you are told, Peregrine old love, you never know who might get shot.” And with that he grabbed Louisa, hauled her up and pointed his gun at her temple. “You wouldn’t want a chap to be deprived of his bride, would you? Now show some cheer, Harker; it may be your funeral but it is my wedding.”
Sir Magnus unlocked the bars imprisoning his brother and ushered him out, my revolver pointing at his breast. Richard was hobbling, probably due to his past injuries and his confinement in that dirty stinking hole. A thought suddenly sprung to mind. As Louisa had been dragged to her feet, she had let go of her sword stick. I knelt to pick up the innocuous looking baton. Grey stopped me.
“Steady on, old boy. What could you possibly want with that? Think you’re going to beat me with it, do you?”
“If only,” I replied. “But perhaps even you would permit this old man some aid to walk. He can hardly stand so I do not suppose a stick will be much of a threat.”
Grey looked at me suspiciously before glancing over at Sir Magnus. He appeared to consider the idea before briefly nodding his acceptance. I bent down slowly, picked up the stick and placed it in Richard’s hands. He took it gladly and, as he did, I let slip a wry smile. I could tell from his face it had not gone unnoticed.
“Now, if we are all quite ready,” said Sir Magnus sarcastically, “it is high time we were leaving.”
The three of us were marched up the spiral staircase, Louisa dragged first, Grey still holding a gun to her head. Then it was out into the cold night air and into the back of a carriage. And so we found ourselves heading to a church for what would surely be the most queer marriage of the new century. Grey sat on top of the carriage, in charge of the horses, while Sir Magnus joined us inside, my revolver in his hand and pointed at Louisa.
Not a word was exchanged during our journey. I was too busy trying to plan an escape, while Louisa, her face red and tear-stained, had sunk into a sad silence. Richard, on the other hand, seemed neither angry nor sad. He, in fact, had quite a calm look about him. There was clearly something passing through his mind. Could it be he had his own insurance plan? But there was no time to consider what it may be, for we were arriving at our destination.
As the carriage stopped Sir Magnus rose and motioned with his gun for us to climb out. We did so very reluctantly. The small church in front of us was surrounded by a graveyard. Snowflakes had begun to fall from the sky, covering everything before us with a light icing sugar dusting of white. Louisa was dragged up the icy steps of the ancient building and through a pair of solid wooden doors, braced and studded with iron. Richard and I were forced along too. The small church was lit with candle light. Despite the gloom I spied a figure standing at the altar. It was an extremely shabby looking vicar. As we approached I heard him hiccup. He looked more than a little tipsy.
“Ah, I was wondering when you would arrive? All is ready,” said the clergyman, slurring slightly. He looked a wily old sort and smelled of drink.
“Splendid,” cried Sir Magnus turning to me, “my vicar friend here has been helping hide some gold-stuffed coffins for me. I thought he might agree to perform the ceremony, for a price.” At this he handed the vicar a hip flask containing something that smelled highly alcoholic. The vicar took a large slug and wiped his lips.
“Right then let us begin,” said Sir Magnus. “You don’t mind if we skip the dull formalities, my dear Louisa? For I’m dying to get on with killing your father.” At this he dragged the poor girl to the front of the aisle.
“Now then, vicar; let us jump straight to the business part of the proceedings.” He turned to Grey. “This is the point where you say I do, old boy.” Grey dutifully agreed.
“Now then, Louisa; your turn, my dear.”
Louisa had a look of complete disdain on her face, she suddenly wrenched free a hand and turned and slapped the man she had once called her father. Sir Magnus wrestled her back in his grasp, and smiled: “I’ll take that as a yes. Right, there we are then, vicar, this is the point where you say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife’.”
The vicar, after some further dithering and hand wringing did as he was told, but it proved to be the last act he would ever perform.
“I’m afraid it is time for our religious friend here to leave, his usefulness has come to an end,” said Sir Magnus as gleefully as a naughty schoolboy. “Don‘t worry, Reverend, we‘ll make sure the register is signed and all the paperwork taken care of.”
The vicar, suddenly guessing his fate, decided to make a quick break for it, but the sorry-looking chap only made it a few steps before the crack of a gun shot stopped him in his tracks. His face contorted into a horrible grimace before he fell to the floor dead. A thin wisp of smoke curled upwards from Grey’s gun.
“For God’s sake, Magnus, have you not had your fill of killing? This has to stop,” bellowed Richard.
“Ah Richard, I had almost forgotten about you, my dear chap,” Sir Magnus replied. “You are quite right, the killing does have to stop, but only after I have dealt with you. Now, you’ve witnessed your daughter marrying a vile depraved murderer, it’s time for us to settle something we should have ended a long time ago.” He was pulling on a pair of calf-skin leather gloves as he spoke. Once he had slipped them on he waved his hand at Grey, who presented him with a long rectangular case about three feet in length. “Now, Richard, you may not know it, but that stick Mr Harker passed you earlier has a certain sting in its tail, or perhaps I should say a blade.” He turned to look at me. “Yes, Mr Harker; I know it is a sword stick, I’m not a fool. In fact you have been most helpful. I allowed Richard to keep it, as it will serve a rather useful purpose.
“After everything we have been through my dear Richard I could not kill you in cold blood, perhaps a duel to the death would be more appropriate.” He opened the case in front of him and took out a fine looking sabre. This would be sheer murder. Richard would have no chance with the feeble blade of the sword stick. It was certain to be a very unfair fight. Nevertheless Richard was only too eager to take on the challenge. Looking at the stick as if it was his salvation he slowly drew the blade, reflecting the flickering church candles and sending rays of light about our hallowed surroundings. He drew his thumb along the blade, testing the quality and the effectiveness of the cutting edge. Surely he must know how useless a tool it would be in a battle against a cavalry sabre? He appeared to have no doubts and was carrying on regardless, discarding the stick that had acted as a scabbard and moving his body into the en garde position.
“This ends tonight, Magnus,” he cried. “Whether I should die, or you should fall, this ends here and now. There has been too much heartache and too much misery. You have taken the lives of too many innocent people, and for what? A petty childhood feud? Or for a handful of riches?”
Sir Magnus listened to this speech with a sarcastic grin on his face, also stripping to his shirt sleeves in preparation for the fight. When Richard finished he let out a deep burst of laughter. “How damned pious and proper you really are, my dear brother. Do you seriously believe that moralistic clap trap, or is it for Louisa and Harker‘s benefit? I suppose that’s how you got your hands on that dead wastrel Kitty.”
No sooner had the words left Sir Magnus’s bitter mouth, than Richard was upon him. An expert lunge forcing his brother to take a leap backwards. In reply he gave some swift sweeps with the sabre which nearly took Richard’s head clean off. It was hard to believe, but Richard, the man who only moments before had been having trouble standing, was now displaying some very nimble footwork. He knew he was unable to parry the heavy blade more than once or twice at a push, for risk of shattering his feeble sword, so instead he was using his feet to avoid the need to do so. He was like a bobbing cobra, darting in and out, searching for a vulnerable spot and lunging towards it with precision and dexterity. Sir Magnus on the other hand knew the power of his blade and was lunging wildly. He may have been the healthy man, but a combination of good, rich living and a life lived in hate, had knocked his fitness. His eyes were burning with a manic hatred, and in the flickering candlelight he looked deathly and dangerous.
The pair wheeled like ballerinas, but they were engaged in a dance of death. They went up and down the aisle, and when they’d exhausted that territory they moved to the pews. Cunning and clever Richard directing the action there to use the benches as impromptu shields to give himself a breather. Then they were whirling back up towards the altar, gold cups and candlesticks flying towards the body of the dead vicar which lay between them. Richard was now beginning to look feverish, his blade darting in and out, searching for a place to attack, and then retreating before being met by the parrying swipe of the tougher blade. Suddenly he struck home. Sir Magnus leapt backwards, his free hand reaching straight to his shoulder, where a crimson stain was spreading across his white shirt. He looked down at it in disgust, before looking back at Richard who had paused his attack, perhaps hoping the blow had been fatal. It had not, for in a second Sir Magnus was upon him with a renewed force and vigour. He was like a lunatic unleashed, slashing his blade wildly like a scythe. It was only moments later he brought his mighty sword down on to Richard’s poorly matched blade, shattering it in two and sending the pieces tinkling to the stone floor. Richard leapt backwards, but lost his footing, and fell down. No sooner had he done so Magnus brought his sword to the poor man’s chest. But he didn’t run him through as we all expected. Instead he just held it there, the tip pressing into Richard’s sweat-drenched shirt.
“Now then, brother, I think that means I win,” mocked Magnus, “I think you will agree I was always destined to win and you, the poor destitute traitor was always destined to lose. But you are right, this struggle of ours should end tonight. I have humiliated you enough, have I not? Perhaps that is sufficient punishment.” And with that he reached out a hand to his brother who had stumbled onto the floor. What the blazes was Sir Magnus playing at?
Richard eyed his brother suspiciously before cautiously accepting his aid and grasping the outstretched hand for support. But as he was almost on his feet he snatched his hand back, quicker than if he’d caught it on a red hot coal. He grabbed his hand and raised it to his face, which suddenly turned very pale.
“You fiend,” he mouthed at his brother.
“Oh, what’s the matter, Richard? A little scratch, a little pin prick perhaps? You didn’t think I was really going to let you live, did you? No I thought it would be more pleasing to watch you die in the manner you had planned for me. A scratch from a thorn soaked in aconite and delivered with a benevolent handshake. That is what you had planned, is it not? It’s certainly how you got rid of that fool Melk and that fool Khan. Well, how does it feel brother, to know you have failed, to know death is coming and there is nothing you can do about it? Here give me your hand again.” The beast grabbed the poor man’s now weakened paw and shook it vigorously. Richard was too in shock to fight back. I guessed the deadly toxin was already entering his blood and spreading through his body, weakening his spirit.
Louisa screamed and tried to break free from Grey. “Stop it, just stop it, haven’t you done enough? Leave him, leave him in peace.”
“Come now, dear,” said Grey, a hint of laughter in his voice, “as my wife you really should learn to be seen and not heard.” He gripped her cheeks viciously between his thumb and fingers, in a brutal attempt to silence the poor girl. “Now my love, this does not concern you, so just you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”
Richard was on his knees now, but Sir Magnus still had hold of his hand, pushing the sharp poison-soaked thorn deep into his hand, from where blood had begun to drip and run down the poor man’s arm, staining the cuff of his shirt sleeve scarlet. I watched as Richard swayed, suddenly he wrenched his hand free and brought it to his chest, he looked like a drowning man struggling for breath. He was sweating heavily and had turned horribly pale. He turned briefly to Louisa and looked as if he was trying to mouth something to her, some parting message, but the words would not come out. Then he collapsed on to the church floor at the foot of the altar, his still body finally at peace.