Effectuators: Book 2 - "Green and Pleasant Land"

Part One:

An alarming prelude.

London, Autumn 1869 : A usual day in a most unusual life…

1

Autumn covered London in a blanket of comfortable grey. A lowered sky hung just above the church steeples, roiling and dark. Rain poured down, sharp and clean. It sheeted down roof tiles and fountained from gutters, washing through streets and down into the modern sewers, leaving the city most remarkably fresh. Paths ran with streams – the stutter of water from gutter pipes made all other sounds simply disappear. It was the wonderful, living chaos of an autumn morn.

A few pedestrians dashed here and there, sheltering beneath umbrellas, or placing their trust in inadequate coats and hats. On Maple Street, the windows of the public house shone yellow in the gloom. A few locals watched from inside the wide doors of the pub, nodding thoughtfully as though judging the rain for texture, heft and quality. Here and there a cart horse plodded stoically down the street, watched by cats who showed no sympathy at all.

Swanning happily down the street came a slight, pale figure swathed in glorious black. Brilliana Stetham – in satin skirts so dark that they glowed with a light all their own, walked merrily beneath a black umbrella of most prodigious size. Her top hat was speckled here and there with raindrops: more shone like jewels inside the train of black funereal crépe that flowed at her back. With her thoroughly useful valise well stuffed with treasures, she hopped across a rivulet that flowed down the street, picked up her skirts to negotiate the gutters, and hailed the pub crowd inside the Stickleback.

The public house boasted a huge old coach yard. The coaches had long gone, but life had returned. A sign now stood beside the gates – neatly lettered and glittering with rain.

"Stetham, Franknel, DuMotier and asc.

PARANORMAL EFFECTUATORS."

Brilliana regarded the sign with great satisfaction, then strode on into the yard.

Her rats were lined up beside the coach house doors to greet her, like a family in a play. She swept under the stable roofs and swirled her huge umbrella free of water, then greeted the rats as they peered winsomely up at her. She had brought stale ends of bread, and a little rind of old cheese. They accepted her offering cheerfully, then hustled off to drier climes. Brilliana dodged beneath the spouting gutters, off across the coach yard, and swept into her own front door in a shower of damp.

Fang! Fang, you black beast of Armageddon! Where are you, boy?

Exploding out from his warm bed beside the fire came a black-and-white collie pup – a beast made mostly of flailing feet and a big red tongue. He flung himself into Brilliana’s arms, excited beyond all measure. She kissed the pup thoroughly, making him wiggle like an armful of well-greased eels. Fang then sprang down to run about the house and check upon his treasures - bed, blanket, bone and goggles. He came running back with the goggles in his mouth.

They played in the rainy coach yard for a while: goggles on the hound and Brilliana tossing two identical balls – one transmogrified with a positive emotional charge, the other an ordinary ball. Fang unerringly pounced upon the charged ball, seizing upon it and bumbling about, before capering back to place it at Brill’s feet.

Ha! Good boy! Good boy!

A nimble creature in his way, Fang sometimes seemed to have rather too many feet –always flinging them about, he sometimes seemed to miss count as he ran. But he made up for these little faux pas with an immense length of tongue, and a boundless joie de vivre. He was learning how to track transmogrified charge by sight and feel: thus far he had uncovered several useful items of bric-a-brac, including tin soldiers, a hunting horn, and the skull of a Barbary ape.

Brill and Fang played together, companions through and through – watched by the rats, who lined the stable rafters and looked on in amusement. Finally the rain redoubled, coming down in earnest, so Brilliana and the puppy both ran back toward the house dripping and laughing.

Fang was a good creature, all in all, but cared no more about good housekeeping than his mistress. And so with wet feet they went indoors, tired after their affairs. Fang sprang up onto a chair, where he could perform his private ablutions and keep an eye upon Brilliana, who was always a source of fun. Brill removed her hat, and felt rather pleased with her day.

Tea! Tea was definitely called for – and something hot, something tasty. Perhaps a muffin? Brilliana shook herself like a fox, the raindrops abandoning her dress. Hanging up her hat with its long trailing veils, she seated her umbrella to drip-drip-drip in the umbrella stand and settled down to await the kettle’s boil.

Being a Sunday there was no mail, of course, which left freedom for various pursuits. Annie-Lou and Guy DuMotier had gone to see a tiny exhibit of French paintings en plein air: bright landscapes and images of sunny afternoons. Perhaps they hoped that it would be catching. But their absence meant that Sunday afternoon at Maple Street belonged to Brilliana. Rather than being a time for cleaning house and laying forth Sunday dinner, it had been delivered to her, bound hand and foot and placed upon the altar. Quaffing back her tea, Brill leapt up to prowl the lower floors, considering her options – the dog watching her, sensing entertainment in the air.

Inspiration struck and a decision was reached! Full of glee, Brilliana sped upstairs to shed her dress, re-emerging clad in black skirt and waistcoat, a leather butcher’s apron, a piratical head scarf and long rubber gloves. She clapped transmogrified goggles about her head, and plunged into a delightful afternoon of science.

Electrical charge fed into a transmogrified object – a positively charged transmographied object – had proved to be an effective weapon against otherworld entities. But only when the entire system had been slathered with ectoplasmic goo - a wonderfully horrid substance, invisible to normal mortal sight. Ectoplasm, however, was in limited supply. Sheathing large objects in the beastly stuff was problematic.

But perhaps their thinking had been wrong? Perhaps only the point of contact between weapon system and target needed an ectoplasmic interface? Say – by creating a long electro-transmographic prod with a tip smeared in ectoplasm? It was decidedly a worthwhile thought – bordering on sheer genius! Exploring it might prove to be a delightful way to pass a rainy afternoon.

Brill started up a small steam engine, using it to make a static generator buzz and whir. Electrical charge built up in the air, occasionally snapping fat blue sparks about the office walls. Working amidst the flashes, smoke and noise, Brilliana set merrily to work. She charged home-made capacitors made of copper, glass and India rubber, shooting sparks and making an uproarious stench as she fried ectoplasm and paper targets, leaving scars across the dining table. The dog capered about in approval, bouncing over the chairs. It was thus in a high state of undeniable guilt that Brilliana was discovered by her companions as they came in from the rain.

Annie-Lou Franknel, late of Sharpsburg Maryland, was ushered in through the door. The stench of Brill’s latest project hit Annie straight in her freckled face. She coughed and hacked, waving her rain-soaked hat before her nose –filled with country pride, Annie refused to countenance an umbrella. Behind her, Guy DuMotier raised his brows, wondering if it was preferable to stay outside in the downpour.

The puppy had Annie-Lou’s socks in his mouth. Brill had donned a leather mask across her nose and mouth – a mask fed with fresh air by a compressor and a long rubber tube. She shot upright, hiding a long copper probe behind her back, ludicrously trying to look innocent. Annie-Lou eyed the damage to the room – the horrid fog hanging in the air – and carefully hung up her dripping oilskin coat.

Hey Fang. Afternoon, Brill…

You’re back! Brilliana’s voice was muffled by the mask – and the hissing, puffing whirr of her little steam compressor did not help. Brill hastened to shut everything down, noting that in point of fact, the house did seem to be rather unduly full of coal smoke. I’ve had the most marvellous breakthrough! Knew you’d be pleased! Knew you would! Still ludicrously hidden by her mask, Brilliana tried to frame a reassuring smile. You will never mind a little smoke! No – you will never mind it! But progress. We have real progress!

Guy laughed, scooping up the dog. He beat the rain from his nautical cap, and hung his drenched blue coat up to dry. Brilliana was one of the great delights of his life. He looked in admiration at her latest creation: a most formidable-seeming device.

Mademoiselle! What in heaven’s name are you doing?

It is an ectoplasmic probe! A charged ectoplasmic probe! Brilliana waved her hands at the bench, where a great soot-smudged monstrosity lay upon the best Sunday tablecloth. Perhaps she should have covered up the cloth before she had begun? Do you see? An electrical charge is stored in the capacitors – that’s the wooden box, here. When the trigger is pulled, the charge feeds around and around about a transmographied object – in this case, a stuffed rabbit. And then it flows out into this! The battle probe! Brilliana proudly displayed a wooden broom handle wrapped in insulated wires, which held a goo-smeared copper probe at its tip. See? We are girded for battle! Armed cap-a-pie!

Annie’s eyebrows rose as she hastened over to the table.

Is that my toy rabbit? She lunged forward and rescued the toy. ‘It is! You’ve been electrifying Bethany Bunny!"

Brill looked greatly crestfallen. Well – I only borrowed her! She stepped to try and hide some new holes accidentally blasted into a wall. I put my pistol in the chamber at first – it has a positive charge now, do you see? But the rabbit proved to be a - a better option.

Annie glimpsed the holes – the telltale sign of buckshot. Brilliana had clearly forgotten to unload her pistol before shooting an electrical charge clean through the thing. Both Brilliana and Fang looked somewhat crestfallen – caught in their guilt, and blushing like Satan for their fall.

Annie checked poor Bethany for damage, and thankfully found none. Guy defused the entire situation by hauling open the curtains.

No harm is done! No harm, no harm. Come, I will open the windows! A little coal smoke never harmed a sailor. He kissed Annie’s hands. It has been a most enjoyable afternoon all around.

It has. Annie watched as Brilliana flitted about the place, trying to set the room to rights. I’ll put some coffee on.

I have a loaf of bread, a hunch of cheese, a fine warmed ham… Guy diplomatically helped sweep cinders from the table. We shall lounge back, discuss affairs and eat like kings!

Pulling her hair back from her face, Annie-Lou headed for the kitchen with the dog trotting along beside her – Fang worshipped her as the most gently benevolent of his household gods. Guy helped Brilliana carefully carry her experiment over to the work benches at the side of the room. Brill was somewhat in a sulk – deflated by her friend’s lack of joy at her magnificent new discovery. But Guy looked the ectoplasmic probe over, approving of the concept, if not the workmanship.

You have an excellent mind, Mademoiselle! Does this probe work well?

Hope so! The electric stream definitely keeps its positive transmographic charge. Brilliana tapped her goggles. What I really need is a rip-roaring monster that I can stick with it! Why is there never anything carnivorous about when you need it?

Never mind! I’m sure something suitably outré will soon emerge. The cumbrous new weapon was carefully put away. I enjoy the mask. Most innovative! He kissed Brilliana upon the brow. I am glad your day has been productive. Let us sit and hear all about it once we have cleared a little space, yes?

Emerging from her mask and goggles – increasingly aware that she may have muddled the house just a little – Brilliana suddenly spied the long crusty loaf of bread waiting on the table. Her face lit with delight.

I say! Is that the Italian one with all the holes?

It is indeed!

Well let’s save the end bits for Annie-Lou. She loves those dearly. Brilliana sailed her apron and gloves off into a corner before calling into the kitchen. Annie dear? Do park yourself down. Come and tell me about the en plein air!

The open windows were a marvellous idea. The coach yard beyond was clean and empty, washed by rain and shining bright. Fountains from the gutter pipes splashed in pleasing little streams. Annie came to join Brilliana and Guy in the big overstuffed leather chairs. She carried both coffee pot and teapot with her: mugs were rescued from a bookshelf and brought happily to hand. The puppy ensconced himself beneath the table with the ham bone and a few choice slices of ham. Annie leaned back as drinks were poured and gazed at the new gouges in the wall.

So your pistol has a positive charge these days?

Oh yes! Brill dearly loved her monstrous Lancaster pistol – custom made to her own crazed specifications. Told you it was special!

You did indeed. Annie clinked her coffee against Brilliana’s mug of tea in salute. Here’s to ‘special’. She spied the bread, and instantly lit with joy. Are those the end bits?

Guy proffered the bread There was also cheese – firm and fragrant, quince jelly and thick-sliced ham rubbed with garlic.

For you, my dear. For you.

With the London rain spread before them and Fang at their feet, the three friends lounged back and ate like heroes out of legend.

2

Brilliana and Annie-Lou shared their domestic arrangements. From time to time, this caused a little strain: it was not uncommon for Annie to arise from bed to find that Brill had been up studying all night and had littered the parlour with toast crumbs and Latin texts. Then there had been the time a tiger’s skeleton had been wired together and left standing on the dinner table – to be discovered by Annie at three in the morning when she was making a nighttime trip to visit the ‘necessities’. But all in all, Brilliana was a good creature at heart – passionate and lively, and with nothing but Annie-Lou’s best interests at in mind. And so it was with no mean triumph that Brill greeted her as Annie emerged in the early morning. Brilliana had managed to procure a great brown jug of genuine maple syrup, and she unveiled it for Annie with much love and delight.

From Vermont! It was a coup – definitely a coup! I had it of a sea captain, for assuring him his boat was free from ghosts! The jug was large enough to beat a moderate whale to death. So here! Home comforts at last at last! I’m still working on the sarsaparilla. Perhaps I can fashion a substitute from household chemicals?

Utterly delighted, Annie fell upon the maple syrup like the wolf upon the fold. Naked greed shone in her bright green eyes. Vermont? Proper Vermont syrup?

Well, there was the Quebecois kind of course, but I thought it might have too deep a tang of Empire, Wolfe and glory.

Annie, whose tastebuds had been formed by a childhood spent in South Carolina, was already planning a mighty feast. Pancakes! I’ll make pancakes! Where’s Guy? Guy lived in rooms above the Stickleback, and usually ate breakfast with the landlord and his fellow resident, old Tempest. Annie hauled the jug into the kitchen. We can get to the fishmongers later on! I can make us fish for dinner!

Fang, awoke from his morning nap, sensing a chance for food. He followed Annie to the kitchen, tail a-wag, eager to see what all this activity might bring. Brilliana was left in the front room wrestling with some new, appalling concepts.

Fish… with maple syrup? Did you say fish with maple syrup?

Annie was quite enraptured by the idea. Of course! Oooh- a white fish – or maybe flounder…

Flounder and syrup… Brilliana felt somewhat pained – there was no explaining foreigners at times, poor creatures. But she would endeavour to endure syrupy fish with a smile upon her face. Splendid! Yes – quite splendid! But pancakes! Breakfast fit for heroes!

Brilliana was usually not allowed near the kitchen: she was rumoured to have once managed to burn a glass of water. And so she crossed out into the beautiful fresh London day to take the air – a day of fog, drizzle and many other delights. Out on the street, the early morning run of milk carts and bakers’ vans had just begun. The city yawned and stretched itself, awakening to a misty, dripping dawn.

Two bakers’ boys saw Brilliana as she crossed the yard. They immediately took flight, for it was well known that Brilliana knew black magic, and had a skeleton in her upstairs cupboard. Rather cheered by their terror, Brilliana took great joy in the day. Skirts held up out of the puddles, she sailed across the coach yard and on into the taproom of the Stickleback.

The main taproom was a noble space, with much gleaming brass and teak. A great wooden sculpted stickleback fish perhaps three feet long had been mounted above the bar: its face for some reason had a perpetual expression of startlement, as though it had just been caught thieving from the cash box. Sitting at their lordly ease, Guy and Tempest were taking a morning coffee by the windows. Tempest – whose craggy face was lit by worldly eyes and the most wonderful beet-red nose – was favouring Guy with his ‘King Lear’. Brilliana bid them a good day, then peered beneath the wooden stickleback and through into the kitchen doors.

Geordie Bob! Geordie Bob, my man! Have you breakfasted?

The landlord - a portly man with a face not unlike one of the more benevolent apes - emerged up from a cellar below the bar. He was wiping his hands upon a vast great towel. Breakfast? Breakfast, you say? Well I have drawn the tea. Porridge and a taste of sausage will be coming, there’s no doubt.

Well bring your sausages along. Come one, come all! Tempest! Guy! Annie is preparing a feast of epic proportions. Turn to and eat like heroes!

Tempest was on his feet at once, holding his hat against his heart. Like heroes, Stetham?

Like heroes! Brilliana seized a beer pot and beat upon it with a spoon.

"If any gentlemen soldiers or others, have a mind to serve his Majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe masters, any children have undutiful parents; if any servants have too little wages, or any husband too much wife, let them repair to the noble Sergeant Kite, at the sign of the Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment!"

Old Tempest rose to the challenge. To arms! He leaned in to murmur in Brilliana’s ear. George Farquhar – very good! Tempest led the charge. We march!

The group made their breakfast in high state in Brilliana’s parlour, nestled between her box of shrunken heads and the jawbones of a dinosaur. Pancakes were made, piping hot, with sausages and bacon heaped crisp and crunchy on a central plate. Annie lashed maple syrup over everything in sight – pancakes, bacon, sausages and tabletop, and ate like a voracious shark. Tempest delivered speeches across a prodigious pot of tea, while the dog applied himself to a truly noble sausage.

Brilliana finally admitted defeat and sank back into her chair. Annie hesitated, wanting to serve her just a few pancakes more. Are you done? Do you want more?

No no – I am replete! Brill heaved a sigh. I’m full up to pussy’s bow!

To what? Annie scowled, trying to understand. You’re full?

To pussy’s bow! Brill indicated the level of satiation by marking a level on her neck. Stuffed – well stuffed indeed.

It was thus, in a high state of sticky pleasure that the Effectuators were discovered by a messenger – a man in an exquisitely neat grey coat and a discrete grey hat. The man knocked three times at the door. He doffed his hat as Brilliana arose to greet him.

The man produced a small envelope, neatly sealed, and proffered it to Brilliana. Miss Brilliana Stetham? The man never once flicked his eyes about the décor: Since this included a tiger skeleton, a meat axe and several African fetish masks, this was no mean feat of will. I bear a message from Lord Bimmington, miss. He says it is a matter of some urgency.

Brilliana’s face lit with delight. She hastened to the kitchen to wash hands and spruce herself. Annie exchanged an amused glance with Guy as Brilliana flitted back, hair in place and free of crumbs. Brill admired the envelope then opened it. She placed on hand on her heart as she read.

Baker Street? We’re wanted at Baker Street!

Annie-Lou, greatly amused, made an arch little rise of her brows.

Is this a private message? Do you need some quiet time…?

Brill looked over the letter with lowered spectacles. Levity ill becomes you. She folded the letter across. In point of fact, it is an address and an invitation to attend a crime scene.

Oh! Annie needled Brilliana with a knowing gaze. Just you...?

It is for the effectuation agency. Brilliana turned to nod to the messenger. Thank you, sir. We will be on our way at once!

The messenger made a stately gesture towards Maple Street. A conveyance is waiting, Miss Stetham. We may leave the instant you are ready.

You, sir, are a sterling son of empire! Immediately energised, Brill swept upstairs. Annie! Guy! Stir yourselves, my heroes! Field kit - there’s effectuation to be done!

Full field equipment for Annie and Guy consisted of their goggles, discrete revolvers, a few small scientific instruments in their pockets, and their transmogrified lucky charms. In deference to the weather, they included long coats. Brilliana, of course, had far more flamboyant arrangements. After a startling short interval she came sweeping down the staircase, immaculately clad in shimmering black satins and crepes, silk and lace, with her top hat and her walking cane headed with a silver fox’s skull. Her transmogrified goggles were about her hat, and her thoroughly useful valise was in hand. She waved towards some large wooden boxes that stood upon the bench.

Aha! Guy – let us bring the decent cameras! Zinc battery, capacitors - and sampling jars. Let there be sampling jars! And the ectoplasm, in the half pint bottle over there!

Her Lancaster pistol – a four barrelled monstrosity made for engaging mastodons and dinosaurs – was slipped into its holster beneath her bustle ruffles. Brilliana checked her attire – lace gloves, quizzing glass, notebook… Then spied her ‘ectoplasmic battle probe’ lying on the shelf.

The probe! Good Lord – the probe! She hauled the awkward thing up off the bench – the wooden battery case had a multitude of straps. Let us not leave home without it!

Annie-Lou glared towards the horrid probe, suspecting that her toy rabbit was about to be commandeered. Not Bethany!

Oh… fie! Brilliana waved her hands about and then jammed a small book inside the probe’s wooden power pack. Very well. Manuscript copy of Alice in Wonderland. Still stained with the author’s sweat! Let’s hope it will suffice!

Guy peered into the power pack. Where did you find a manuscript?

Bookseller on the road thought it was an old diary. I got it for nine pence. I do love a really nice, gullible idiot. Brilliana staggered a little under the awkward weight of the probe. Right! Let us march on! Tempest – be a good creature for once and look after the dog.

Laden down with the long copper-tipped probe, Brilliana looked at though she were equipped for hunting urban whales. Guy gallantly relieved her of the encumbrance. Geordie Bob held open the door as the Effectuators at last went on their way. Tempest seemed content to remain at table and see to the last of the sausages, sharing them half-and-half with young Fang. He saluted Brilliana with a wave of his bacon, as she marched out into a cold grey day.

Sitting weirdly in the middle of Maple Street, seething and bubbling like a pot upon the stove, there was a most wonderful contraption: a vehicle sitting high upon four carriage wheels, but with a boiler hissing and ticking at the rear. A tall chimney funnel leaked coal smoke into the air, while steam wheezed from pistons of gleaming brass and steel.

It was a steam car! A fine example of cutting-edge technology, with the word ‘Reliant" in gleaming silver letters across the prow. A small man sat at the steering tiller with his wind goggles down and an arched posture that implied a body used to vast accelerations and immense speed. Beside him, a small Indian boy held a bucket of coals and a little brass shovel, ready to stoke the boiler and fan the flames.

Brilliana allowed the messenger to hand her up onto the seats. She nestled herself down, Annie climbing up beside her and Guy taking the bench seat facing to the rear. The boiler was stoked – a whistle blew: it was all really rather exciting!

The messenger saw that all were safely stowed aboard. With a set, straight face, he drew a red flag from a rack beside the driver. The car gave a double toot from its whistle, and steam shot forth between the wheels. It then trundled oh-so-slowly off along the road, following behind the messenger who carried the red flag a regulation sixty yards ahead of the car. At a rip-roaring snail’s pace, the car set forth towards the wilds of Baker Street.

Bill Butley was just harnessing his horse to his new Growler cab. He watched with utter puzzlement as the car trundled slowly by. His horse – a great hammer-headed animal with a dark sense of humour, crunched noisily upon an apple, unimpressed by cinders, steam and whistles. Perched atop the steam car, Annie propped her chin on her hand and gave Bill a helpless ironic wave. Brill – agitated – consulted a silver pocket watch (inevitably embossed with a skeletal fox), winced at the glacial pace of the steam car, and leaned forward to call out to the driver.

I say! Hello?

Yes miss! The driver had his wind goggles down, and was poised as though balancing against the immense forces of inertia and speed. A fine day for a drive!

Absolutely! Absolutely! Brilliana was never one to rain upon a man ‘s enthusiasms. I think the letter from Lord Bimmington said that were a little short on time?

That’s right, Miss! The driver judged the distance to the corner thirty yards away. In ten seconds or so he would have to put the tiller hard over. Never fear! Old Reliant is running beautifully. And ’tis a Monday! She never breaks down on a Monday.

Aaah – yes… Brilliana was moving slowly past the shops along her home street. She tried to broach a delicate subject. A beautiful conveyance! And so wonderfully well kept!

It is Lord Bimmington’s pride and joy, Miss.

Yes – but I was just wondering… Brilliana was being observed by her own dear family of rats, who had clustered on a roof gutter to watch her slowly cruising by. What is your top speed, exactly?

Oh, prodigious, miss! Prodigious! I could run her up to twenty miles an hour, had I a mind!

Well – would you? We’re in a bit of a hurry?

The driver spoke with real sorrow in his heart. Can’t, Miss! Royal Highways Act of 1865. All steam powered conveyances are limited to two miles per hour in any town or city, and must be preceded by a red warning flag carried sixty paces to the fore.

Really?

The woe of the world, miss! Diabolical, I calls it! Diabolical! When I think we could be bowling along at a full twenty miles an hour…

Yes – do just excuse me for a moment.

Brilliana hopped down from the steam car and walked the few paces back to Bill Butley’s cab. Bill tightened the straps on his horse’s harness, and nodded a good morning to her.

Arr!

Morning Bill.

Mornin’… Bill supped a little gin, just to set himself up for the day. One o’ them locomotive engines, then?

It is indeed. Brilliana produced a shilling. Bill, my sweet, my light, my hero… Bill, can you take us down to 16 Baker Street. Apparently it’s quite important.

Right you are. Bill looked at the steam car, still ambling slowly down the street. Will that there thing be takin’ your luggage?

That would be the diplomatic course.

Brilliana waved to Annie and Guy. Annie took a look at the steam car as the little stoker industriously stuffed the firebox with coal, and shook her head. Wonderfully agile in her trousers, she vaulted from the car and down onto the road.

Come on Guy! Abandon ship!

The mighty steam car trundled onwards. A scalding cloud shot sideways into the street, scattering a crowd of prancing boys. The driver used an oven mitt to pad his hand as he tightened up a valve and brought his steam lines to heel. Brilliana cautiously approached and walked beside him, calling up to be heard above the clanking, hissing engine.

Hello? Um – yes! I don’t want to distract you… The driver did seem to be rather engaged. I say! We might just flit on ahead and spy out the land. Brill held her hat upon her head as labouring pistons spurted yet more steam. We will entrust the delicate scientific equipment to your care, sir! We know you will deliver it in perfect condition!

Yes Miss! Never you fear! The steam car driver hooted his steam whistle, terrorising a cart horse that plodded past. 16 Baker Street, miss! We’ll see you there!

Sixteen! Brilliana waved the man on his way. She heaved a sigh. "I hope so.

Guy raised his cap to driver and stoker, and dismounted with a wonderful naval insouciance. He crossed over to Brilliana.

Is everything well?

Yes yes! I just thought we might shave off a few aeons of travel time. Brilliana fretted for her cameras and ectoplasmic probe, all being borne off in state upon the mighty steam car. I suppose they’ll get there eventually.

A shame! The vehicle was fascinating! Most wonderfully engineered.

The three Effectuators climbed up into the familiar comfort of Bill Butley’s cab, brushing raindrops from their clothes. Brilliana leaned out of the window and called to Bill enthroned on high above her.

Alright Bill! Onward – at speeds suitable to the flash and bustle of modern life!

Dancing irritably past the steam car, Bill’s horse took the Growler cab clattering off along the street, whisking past the messenger with his red flag and dour grey hat. On, on into the cross streets and swiftly off towards Baker Street.

Guy settled into the bench seat with a sigh.

An impressive machine! I would love to see that mechanism achieve its twenty miles an hour!

Brilliana shrugged, knitting her fine brows. I’m nor sure the poor chap carrying the flag would appreciate it.

It seemed unlikely for the present. Moving at a spanking pace along the puddle-gleaming streets, the cab took them south, towards the mysteries of Baker Street.

Baker Street was clearly never bound for glory. A busy street filled with businesses, cheap hotels and boarding houses – grey and grey. There were counting houses, legal firms, and eating houses catering to clerks and the petit bourgeoisie.

London pedestrians knew no fear of mere mortal rain. They gathered at a suitably discrete distance, watching on in ghoulish shock as police and ambulances gathered outside a tall grey house. Police were coming in and out of doors, and two ominous shapes shrouded upon stretchers spread a pall of gloom over the scene.

Bill Butley’s cab trotted smartly along the street, past the ambulances – past gawping cart drivers and a wildly overladen omnibus. Brilliana thumped the roof with her cane as she saw a tall, exquisitely attired gentleman waving to her from across the street. Bill turned the cab, and drew it carefully to a halt.

Wreathed in smiles, Lord Bimmington opened up the door.

Stetham! And Miss Annie, what a delight to see you both again! You look blooming – positively blooming!

Lord Bimmington was a tall, slim man with wonderfully wicked eyes and a handsome, scholarly moustache. He lifted his hat to the ladies and handed them down onto the street. Brilliana kept a hold upon his gloved fingers. Bimmington! How wonderful to see you.

Bimmington marvelled at the growler cab, with its great hammer-headed horse. But my dear Stetham! I sent a perfectly good steam contrivance to fetch you. Why have you come by cab?

Too much of the Boadicea in me, dear Bimmington! Nothing pleases me as much as the rumble of chariot wheels. Guy was emerging from the cab. May I introduce our dearest partner and friend, Messier Guy DuMotier. Guy, Je m’presente Lord Bimmington – a most valued patron, friend and supporter.

Servitue, sir! Servitue! Bimmington shook Guy by the hand, looking into his face with great interest and delight. DuMotier? Have I the honour of addressing one of the famous LaFayettes?

You do, my Lord! You do. Guy’s charm was as broad as the seas and as endless as the oceans. Although these days we are not quite so illustrious.

Capital! How capital! And you were in Mexico, I believe? Warm and full of boundless good will, Bimmington maintained his grip upon Guy’s hand. Well I am glad the ladies have found so competent a companion.

Across the road, several policemen in short, damp rain cloaks cleared the way for the ambulance men. Yet another corpse was being taken from the old grey boarding house across the road. Reporters were being held back by the police. Brilliana watched events with interest.

So, my lord… What seems to be afoot?

I came across the beginnings of it this morning, when we took old ‘Reliant’ out for a whirl! Bimmington pointed to the boarding house with an immaculate walking cane. Murder most foul! An absolute slaughter yard. The landlord was witnessed this morning as he pursued a guest in a nightshirt out into the street and felled him with an axe! Upon the police’s arrival, he almost stove them in as well. Chased them out, then disappeared out of the bathroom window! And now it seems there are yet more bodies in the house!

The landlord was a busy man, it seems.

Yes! Bimmington seemed a little pained. Deuced sorry to drag you to such a sight…

Brilliana was becoming more and more interested in the ghastly scene across the road.

Oh, you know we cannot mind it. We must steel ourselves. Scientists must be wrought from good, stern stuff!

Quite so! Bimmington waved a hand towards the ghastly affair. But this is as fresh as such a terrible occurrence can be! So I instantly thought of your endeavours to locate rifts!

Brilliana swelled with scientific ardour. She stared over the street with sheer predatory desire.

Bimmington! You are a gem! A treasure! A pillar of learning and a blessing on the tribe! Brilliana gripped the man’s arm tightly in gratitude, her whole being already straining towards the crime scene. Her fox face scented evil in the air. Wonderful! I’m certain we can make headway!

Have you a way past the police?

Science finds a way! Excelsior!

The steam car was still nowhere in sight, but the heavy equipment could wait. Brill grinned like a shark, hitched up her valise and headed straight for the police with glee in every stride.

Guy and Annie-Lou hastened after her, sensing trouble on the wind.

Senior Constable Blackthorne was having a trying morning. He had one junior constable with a broken jaw, and another with concussion, four dead bodies on his hands and an axe murderer at loose on London’s streets. Newspapermen had begun to arrive, gathering numbers for a charge. It felt as though his morning could not possibly be worse – and then suddenly he saw a scintillating swirl of black silk skirts sweeping towards him. Floating amidst the silks was a predatory face split in a codfish grin. Blackthorne cursed aloud, then strode forward holding up a hand.

No! No no no no no no no!

Blackthorne! My dear Blackthorne! Brilliana opened up her arms – valise in one hand, long cane in the other, and an innocent heart inbetween. We’re here, we’re here! Thank heavens for old friends!

Be gone! Blackthorne swelled like a puffer fish from some strange alien shore. He bridled with absolute dislike. This is a criminal investigation! An investigation!

Yes – where is your criminal? He must certainly be spry!

The police force h’is in pursuit. Hot pursuit! Blackthorne moved to make certain that Annie and Guy could not get by. This is no place for interfering and illegal amateurs!

Oh Blackthorne! Let us not be rambunctious. You will do yourself an injury!

Three reporters in shabby coats crowded near the ambulance, trying to prize statements out of the ambulance drivers. Constable Queeg – a monolith made from scar tissue and spare elbow skin - pushed the reporters away, closed the ambulance doors, and mounted up onto the ambulance roof.

Suddenly the reporters all spied Brilliana at once. With her mourning garb, goggles and valise, she was well known to the local press. With delight flowering in their hearts, they surged towards her in a body. With notebooks open, they besieged Brilliana and Blackthorne with questions.

Miss Stetham! Miss Stetham! Is this a supernatural killer? Are there ghosts involved!

With a becoming modesty, Brilliana put a hand upon her heart and called to the reporters. Oh Jeremy! How do you do? No no no no no – not supernatural. We have a very mortal killer, I believe!

A tall, eager reporter with a head shaped like a speckled egg waved his notebook to gain Brilliana’s attention. Have the Effectuators been called in, Miss Stetham? Are you helping the police pursue their man?

Brilliana’s clear voice carried across over Blackthorne’s angry expostulations. No official decisions have been made of any kind! Not yet!

But unofficially?

We could never officially replace the police, no no no! Bless you all. Brilliana linked arms with Blackthorne. No no – my dear friend Senior Constable Blackthorne has asked for our assistance purely in an informal sense. An act of friendship, professionals to professionals, nothing more! Brill saw yet more reporters approaching, and waved them all to join her. The senior constable can give you a full statement! And he can tell you all about the missing axe murderer. An axe murderer at large!

There was an instant uproar. Reporters and even passing members of the public instantly stormed forward, drowning Blackthorne in questions. It was sheer chaos in the streets, and it drew in the police constables like bees to honey. With all attention now elsewhere, Brilliana picked up her skirts and cruised swiftly onwards up the front stairs and into the boarding house.

Out on the street, the ambulance had made a turn and whisked off along the far side of the road. Constable Queeg saw Brilliana on the stairs, and his eyes shot wide in outrage. Brilliana gave the man a cheerful wave. Queeg, old thing! May the lord place a flower upon your brow! Queeg tried banging on the ambulance roof to command the driver stop, his demands going quite unheard. Brilliana cheerfully mounted the steps. She stopped a constable, who was coming from the house carrying a bloody sheet. I say my man! Lord Bimmington’s steam car will be arriving shortly. Have the heavy equipment brought carefully inside.

The constable bobbed as he heard Lord Bimmington’s name. Yes Ma’am!

Good chap! Stout fellow! Be careful – there are valuable cameras.

Annie and Guy hastened into the house and shut the front door behind them, cutting off the clamour from the street. The three Effectuators stood in a dark, narrow hall inside a house that stank abominably of blood.

There was blood on the floor, and bloody handprints on the walls. Ghastly trails stained the walls where an arcing axe blade had sprayed the paint with gore. Police had tramped through the blood in their boots, spreading it about the household with a will. Greatly pained, Brilliana led her friends through to the stairwell. Here she found a young policeman making notes into his pocket book.

Constable! How wonderful to see you. We’ve just come from Blackthorne. Brill planted herself in front of the young policeman. Now, young man – can you tell me exactly what has happened?

Ah! Well, yes miss! Drawing himself up, the young man tried to assume an authoritative voice. H’at approximately eight forty five this morning, passers by witnessed a man attemptin’ to flee this ‘ere abode. He was cut down by another h’individual as he tried to depart out through the garden gate! The axe-wielding individual then dragged the body of his victim back inside and bolted shut the door. The young policeman consulted a notebook. Nearby police responded, but upon knocking on the door, the door opened and they was attacked by an individual wot carried an axe! Constable Reilly had his issue helmet split clean in two – estimated damages of three shillings! The constables made good their escape. The door was bolted against them. Police response arrived at nine thirty, and a forced entry was accomplished.

My word! It sounds quite the most amazing thing! Brilliana was already peering about the stairwell. And the man with the axe?

Gone, miss! The young policeman folded away his notebook. It is presumed that the culprit managed his escape through a rear before proper surveillance could be placed upon the back alley.

I see. Brilliana mused: She leaned upon her cane. Right! Thank you constable. We will begin our initial examination.

The Effectuators drew on their goggles and fanned out to inspect the hall. Guy opened a door into the parlour, and recoiled at once: the place had a terribly dark, dire aura. And there were other bodies here?

Yes sir! The young constable’s face was stiff and pale. Three of them, all laid up lying on pieces of carpet, they was, like they were ready to be carted off somewheres. Guests, by the look of it: Their effects has been identified in the rooms upstairs.

Three bodies? Brilliana had found a ledger. There were three cadavers at the ambulance. Where, then, is the fourth man?

Ah! The constable cleared his throat. The location of that individual has not yet been ascertained!

Brilliana was carefully leafing through the house’s guest book. She did not like what she saw. Let me see… boarders arrive…. they sign in. They never sign out… Brill looked up towards the ceiling. Are there other residents? Witnesses?

No ma’am! There were only four guest rooms apparently h’occupied. The constable shook his head. Three belonging to the gents from the parlour. The other belonged to the gent killed in the garden, no doubt.

And the axe-murdered man is the missing body?

Ah – indeed, Miss! Still unaccounted for.

Brilliana was astounded. A blood-slathered body, utterly unfound, forsooth? She closed her own notebook with a snap. Right! Well – that should make things far easier.

Easier, Miss?

Hard things to transport, bodies! A man is a very lumpen, hefty thing – just ask your mother. Brill addressed herself to the house. Our axe-waving gentleman seemed to have a definite system. This was no spur of the moment killing. We have a right bad ‘un here. She waved a hand to the constable. Right. Police to secure the exits. And stay alert. Stay damned alert.

The Effectuators kept together, moving slowly deeper into the dark and monstrous house. Brilliana moved slowly forward, tapping thoughtfully at the walls.

Guy and Annie-Lou knew their jobs well. Revolver in hand, Annie opened a cupboard. She peered within, then opened the door far wider.

Brill? Suitcases! Nine or ten of them. She jimmied one case open with a hunting knife. Full packed. Men’s shirts and drawers. And my mercury’s falling.

Brilliana opened up a duffle bag that was hidden in the bottom of the cupboard. She pulled out a long, thin black fur – a sable fur of glorious, shining black. She peered thoughtfully into the bag, and set it aside. Annie spared her a glance.

What is it?

Sales good, I think. From one of the unfortunate guests… Brill took a careful reading with her thermometer, concentrating on the floor boards. "Yes -

Annie? It’s cooler here, by the floor."

The constable hovered helpfully nearby. No one hiding in the house, Miss! It’s all been searched thorough.

Indeed. Brilliana handed the guest book to the young policemen. Is that the kitchen? It seems remarkably free of blood.

The young constable hastened to follow Brilliana, keeping close.

Yes miss! The blood was all from that feller killed in the door. We reckon the villain dragged the body down the stairs and into the basement.

And the other bodies – the ones in the parlour. How were they killed? Not by axe, I’ll warrant.

The young constable was surprised. No mum! Strangled, like as not. He looked at Brilliana in chill amazement. How did you know they wasn’t axe murdered, miss?

Because apart from the tracks left by this morning’s episode, the place is unconscionably neat. Well ordered – clean. Victims properly stacked – their effects gathered and stored… Brilliana ran a hand over a painting’s frame, and found not a speck of dust. No – this is the lair of a very orderly man. A man who plans things well. The axe murder on the path was impromptu, like as not. Trying to silence a panicked witness.

Unintentional axe murder, Miss?

Brill nodded – quite chilled. I think the axe was for the process of body disposal, rather than for day-to-day murder itself.

Someone fumbled at the front door in panic. Moments later, the door into the street banged open wide. Blackthorne and a police constable fled inside to escape the reporters, slamming shut the door behind them. He was confronted by Annie and Guy measuring temperatures carefully beside the stairs, and Brilliana explaining the theory of fingerprint collection to the young constable. Blackthorne wiped his face, still hearing the public clamouring just outside the door.

Stetham! Stetham, damn your eyes…!

Brill was busy.

Oh hush! Had you already finished with your search? Then let us do what we can… She pointed abstractly to the closet. Ten suitcases there. Your villain may have been cutting up his boarders for quite a while. Did you search the cellar?

Of course we searched the cellar! It’s an ordinary London cellar!

…With a coal hole to the lane out the back? Yes – and your victims in the barrels were in the cellar? Brilliana set her hat to its most appropriate angle. And no sign of your villain at all?

As I have told the press – the culprit has escaped – probably out the back door.

Annie was near the stairs, a thermometer in hand. She held up one hand, her eyes on tiny fluctuations in the mercury. Slowly, she knelt beside the stairwell, lowering the thermometer to the floor.

Brill? There’s a two degree drop at the cellar stairs! Annie thoughtfully watched her instruments. Might just be the cool air… Still dropping.

Blackthorne demanded that his voice be heard.

Stetham!

Hush! Brilliana’s voice was utterly commanding. Her eyes were upon her thermometer, measuring slight tremors in the mercury. Blackthorne – has Lord Bimmington’s steam car arrived yet? It clearly had – the sound of frightened horses could be heard out on the street. Have someone get that equipment carried in, and come here.

What?

Here. Here! Brilliana was looking down the cellar stairs, and lowered her goggles. Now keep close. Have you a revolver?

No madam! The senior constable was incensed! Indeed I does not!

Would you like one?

Blackthorne bridled. An officer of the law has the protection of his warrant, and the respect of the public! That is his defence and his guard!

Oh – well, do suit yourself!

Brilliana led the way down into the cellar, paraffin lamp in one hand, with her valise and cane held in the other.

Down – down into the chill, icy reek of the cellar.

The stairs were well swept, but the dark, wide space down below stank abominably. Hackles rising, Annie-Lou followed close behind. She kept her revolver at the ready, tracking at shadows. Her skin tingled to a terrible sense of presence that stole slowly through the cellar air.

Almost vanishing in her black dress, Brilliana led the way down, down, down into the dark. Her scientific curiosity left no room for fear. She reached the bottom of the cellar steps and swung her lantern, revealing a dozen empty barrels lying on their sides, a coal chute leading up into the back lane, a net, block and tackle, dusty benches and a coal bin. Brilliana moved into the long, low room – her footsteps almost silent. The stairs creaked as Annie came down slowly, with Blackthorne and Guy at her back. They stood in the thin yellow lamp light, their eyes trying to penetrate the gloom.

Brilliana looked into the empty barrels, and then moved softly over to the wooden wall that ran along the entire length of the cellar. The wood was neat and new. She inspected scuffs and scratches on the wall, and set down her bag.

Annie cocked her revolver – the sound startlingly loud in the silence. Brill? Be careful.

Yes yes yes! Brill had her bag open. She removed her patent binaural flexible stethoscope from the bag, put the ear pieces in place, then began listening to various patches along the wall. She seemed extremely interested here and there. Blackthorne could not contain his impatience.

Stetham! With all evidence collected, this house now remains private property. As such, it is protected from damage and interference by law!

Hush! Really Blackthorne, you can be most disruptive! Brilliana scowled and went back to her listening. Her efforts were somewhat muddied by a sudden tramp of boots from the stairs. Two constables carried her large tripod camera and ectoplasmic probe down the stairs, accompanied by two reporters and the curious driver of the steam car. They all filed down like native bearers from some strange expedition.

The presence of the reporters drove Blackthorne into apoplexy. Now gentlemen! No no – this is too much! He fought past the men to yell up the stairwell. Queeg! Queeg, where are you?

Gone to the coroner’s, I’m afraid. Brilliana stepped back from the wooden wall. Pity, a trained Neanderthal might have been useful.

Neanderthal? Constable Queeg is from Woolwich! Blackthorne glowered. Why would he be useful?

Because this cellar has been divided by a wooden wall.

Brilliana took her gorgeous skull-topped cane, and then politely rapped upon the cellar wall three times.

I say! I wonder if we could impose upon you to come out? The senior constable desires some help with his inquiries…

A section of the wall exploded outwards. A huge-bellied man in a leather apron burst into the cellar, screaming in rage. His blood stained axe whipped through the air. The man missed seeing Brilliana in the dark, and rampaged straight towards Senior Constable Blackthorne. Blackthorne froze, unable to move as the huge axe swung straight for his head.

The cellar lit with a violent flash. Guy’s revolver barked three times. Screaming wildly, the madman stood poised above Blackthorne, blade held high. The man teetered – then suddenly fell onto the floor.

Terrified reporters cringed at the top of the stairs. Brilliana - sword unsheathed, tried to hold back the young constable as the lad ran to check the fallen body.

Keep back!

The fallen man suddenly lashed out with his axe for the young constable, missing him by inches. Brilliana whipped with her sword blade, hacking into the killer’s forearm. Screaming in rage, he clawed back up onto his feet…

Guy shot him precisely in the forehead.

The man fell – dead. Oh most certainly dead. With a look of great distaste upon his face, Guy holstered his pistol. Somewhat shaken, he nodded to Blackthorne.

Your man, monsieur.

Dear God! Dear God! Blackthorne mopped at his face with a spotted red and white handkerchief. He was a Visigoth, but he still retained some manners. He nodded to Guy. Thank you, sir! You done saved my life.

Beyond the secret door was a vile blood-spattered workroom – a place furnished with a chopping block, knives and saws. A little paler, but in command of herself, Brilliana backed away from the corpse.

Her voice was hoarse.

There was nowhere in the upstairs house where he could have cut up bodies. You see? He stored empty barrels in the cellar. Killed his victims upstairs, then cut them up down here and put them in the barrels. Then at night – he hoists the barrels up into a cart in the lane, and takes them away for disposal… Brilliana shivered, quite nauseated by it all. Ghastly.

The reporters all began to write. Blackthorne staggered up the stairs to summon his men. Feeling slightly weak, Brilliana cleaned and sheathed her sword, sliding the ancient blade back into her walking cane.

What Brilliana wanted was inside the madman’s lair. With her goggles down, the place clearly flickered with