Order of Britain: Stone of Madness (3 page)

The liquid impacted Callum in the centre of his chest, slamming him back against a tree with violent force. He yelled as the fluid burnt like acid, searing his skin. He tried to move his arm, but the liquid solidified like cement, pinning him to the spot.

“Nathaniel, a little help would be appreciated!” Elizabeth yelled, throwing herself to the side to avoid a further stream of venomous gunk.

Nathaniel stood paralysed, his face a mask of panic. She ran to him, ducking under a hairy leg that swiped at her as she sprinted. Grabbing him by the arms, she shook him.

“What's wrong with you?” she snapped. “It's just a bloody insect!”

“...Arachnid...”

“Whatever! We need your help!”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the spider, that had begun to stalk towards Callum. The Dragon-Blood struggled against his bonds, trying to free himself from the glue like substance as it seared his arms.

Elizabeth punched him in the eye. He reeled back, then turned his eyes to her, as if seeing her for the first time.

“That bloody hurt!” 

“Good!”

Nathaniel's eyes snapped back to the spider, and an almost bestial snarl crossed his face. He raised his arms, his hands facing towards each other, about a foot apart.

Energy crackled between his fingers, coalescing into a ball of lightning between his hands.

Drawing back his hands, he hurled the ball of lightning at the spider. It exploded against the creatures side with a blinding flash, dazzling Elizabeth as she threw up a ward to protect against the backlash. She felt the impact against her spell, and was thrown back by the sheer force of it, her body slamming into Nathaniel's and sending them to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

The spider turned back to them, unearthly hatred burning in its gaze. Half of the fur along its side had been scorched away, revealing mottled, scaled flesh. Two of the legs on its left side hung useless, and it dragged them behind it as it stalked towards them, venom dripping from its fangs.

But the delay had been just what Callum needed. Straining, he freed his right arm from the searing webbing. He flicked his wrist, and the silver void-sword leapt into incandescent life. He cut away the remaining webbing, the gunk disintegrating at the touch of his blade, and  ran towards the wounded spider. 

Gripping the swords hilt in both hands, he launched a massive overhand cut at the segmented midriff.

The spider screamed as the blade bit into its flesh, and Callum felt bone and sinew rip and tear as his blade cut through the foul beast. His right arm felt like it was on fire as he cut, energy running through it to feed the void-sword's hunger.

With one final effort, the blade sheared through the spider's spine and out the other side, a gush of black ichor flooding from the wound to soak the ground. The spider began to shrivel, steam rising from its form as its limbs shrunk and curled in on themselves.

Callum stood there panting, his sword resting on the ground as the spider shrunk like drops of water on a stove, and vanished.

“Well,” he gasped, “I think we've established that magic is a factor here.”

***

“The creature you fought was called an Arachnadon,” Daltrey said, his fingers tapping on the top of his desk. “They're magical spiders that are traditionally used by skilled mages as traps for the unwary. There hasn't been one seen in Britain in over a century.”

“Well, I think we can conclusively say they're still around,” Callum murmured. He glanced at Nathaniel. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I just... really dislike spiders.”

“I don't know anyone who particularly likes them.” Elizabeth said wryly. Nathaniel sighed.

“When I was younger, my parents took me on a trip to the Australian colonies. Father was a Guild member, and had been sent to investigate the magical potential over there. One night, as I was sleeping, I felt something tickling my face. I woke up, and there was a huge spider sitting on my pillow, one of its legs stroking my face.”

He shuddered at the memory.

“It was an Australian Tarantula. They're not deadly, and thankfully, reluctant to bite. I've been terrified of the damned things ever since.”

The four sat in silence, mild expressions of horror on their faces.

“You know, Nathaniel, I could honestly have lived the rest of my life not knowing that story,” Elizabeth said.

“It's always better to share, Elizabeth,” Nathaniel replied, a wan smile crossing his face.

“We're getting a bit far afield, here,” Callum said, trying to rein the conversation back from horrifying, multi-legged creatures. “Gordon, do you have any theories as to what summoned the Arachnadon?”

Daltrey nodded, and laid his hands on the table. The top of the desk began to glow with a pale light. Slowly, a shining map of London formed on the table. Daltrey tapped it, and a network of lights spread out from the centre in a series of interlocking threads.

“This is the lattice, as it currently stands,” he said, indicating the criss-crossing network. “And this...” - he tapped the table again - “is the lattice several hours ago, when the murder was taking place.”

In the location of the park, the threads began to bend inwards, knotting like string over the area of the murder.

“That should not be doing that,” Nathaniel said. “The lattice is meant to remain static.”

Daltrey nodded.

“Something was causing a vast magical upsurge in the area – not only that, but it was feeding on the lattice itself to gain power.”

Callum watched as the bright knot of magic unravelled, and moved back into its regular intersections.

“Call it paranoia, but I've got a feeling something big is coming – and this is only the beginning."

Privates Reynolds and Cobb were on leave. For some soldiers of Her Majesty's forces, that would mean going home to see family or sweethearts, or visiting friends they wouldn't normally get to see.

Reynolds and Cobb didn't really care for their families. Other than each other, they didn't really have any friends either. 

And outside of the whores of Whitechapel, they didn't really have any ladies they would class as 'sweethearts' either. Like some soldiers, they didn't really look for much in a woman – their main proviso was that she was cheap.

They'd found a rather dingy little whorehouse on one of the back streets, and after a couple of drinks, had taken one of the women upstairs. Some negotiations had ensued – spirited ones. Now, they lounged downstairs, their feet up on the tables, glasses of beer in their hands.

“You know, I could get used to this.” Reynolds said. “The easy life, women nearby, plenty of drink... what's not to love.”

Cobb glanced around, and frowned.

“I reckon we should get out of here.”

“Oh?”

“Better places to be, my lad. The whole of London awaits.”

“I hope you're planning on paying your tab before you leave.” 

They glanced up at the madam, her heavily rouged face stern above her ample bosom.

“Haven't you heard, love?” Reynolds said nastily, getting to his feet. “The queens soldiers drink for free.”

“Since bloody when?” 

Reynolds hit her, sending the woman reeling back against the nearest table.

“Since now, you dried up old tart! Best be getting me and my mate here another drink, or you'll get another one.”

Cobb looked at his friend in shock, then glanced around the room. At the balcony above the bar area, the other women were watching them.

The lights seemed to dim as Reynolds stood there, fury on his face. The madam struggled back to her feet, and spat in the soldier's face.

“You cheeky bastard. You think you're something special, do you?”

The soldier cocked his fist again, but the madam was ready this time. Stepping forward, she raised her knee into Reynolds' groin, bending him over double.

Cobb watched the events unfold before him, then got to his feet. He tossed some coins on the table.

“Sorry miss. I'll get him out of here.”

She shot him a look of pure venom.

“You ain't going nowhere.”

He stepped back from the fury in her gaze, and looked around again. The other girls were slowly moving down the stairs in various states of undress. There were red stains on some of their cloths.

Some of them held knives.

He turned back as the madam locked the door. Reaching behind the bar, she drew out a long carving knife.

***

Callum took one look inside the brothel, and wanted to vomit. The main room was a tableau of blood. It stained the walls, the floor, and the furniture with a crimson sheen.

And at the centre of it all were the bodies. Two of them had been strung upside down from the ceiling by their feet. Their throats had been cut – eventually. They had once been men, but by the time their suffering had finished, that was no longer the case.

Beneath them lay the bodies of the brothel's workers. All their throats were marked by a long gash. 

Callum stepped inside the room, trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell of blood and evacuated waste was overwhelming. Behind him, Elizabeth walked into the room and stopped in horror.

“Fucking hell...” she murmured.

“I'd say that's fairly succinct,” said Nathaniel. “Do we know who the victims were yet?”

A police inspector stepped forward, his face mildly disapproving above his bushy moustache. He didn't like his crime scene being invaded by outsiders.

“Privates Reynolds and Cobb, fourth battalion of foot,” he said smartly. “Both were on leave, and had clearly decided to... entertain themselves.”

“Drinking and debauchery?” Elizabeth suggested. The inspector didn't look amused.

“Something like that, miss. We were called when the night manager got here and found the door locked. When he got in, he found this.”

“I imagine that gave him a fright. How long ago did they die?”

“We estimate around four hours.”

“And no-one heard anything?” Callum asked. 

The inspector fixed him with a flat look.

“This is Whitechapel, sir. People make a habit of not hearing things.”

“Point taken.”

He looked over at the arranged bodies, and grimaced.

“I'm going to need you and your men to give us a minute, inspector.”

The policeman looked as if he was about to object, then thought better of it. The room cleared quickly, leaving the agents alone.

He glanced over at Nathaniel, who was walking around the bodies.

“Anything?”

“A lot of background, but nothing remaining. Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth was crouched down by the bodies, her face set. She examined the wounds in their necks.

“These look self inflicted. That makes it two murder-suicides at the centre of magical confluxes. Somehow I don't thing that's a coincidence.”

A buzzing sounded in each of their ears, and they reached up and pinched their earlobes.

“You need to return to the Guild. Clarence has called a meeting.” Daltrey said into their ears.

“Any idea what for?” Nathaniel asked.

“No, but a lot of the council members have also been summoned.”

The three agents shared a glance, and headed for the door.

***

Wallace Cameron had the bearing of a man bred for power. The descendant of some of the oldest mage families in the Guild, he had been on the council since he was twenty-one, and now at the age of fifty, he felt that he was the pre-eminent authority on the council. Tall, stately and with a close cropped mane of steel grey hair, Cameron walked into the star chamber as if he owned it.

The very presence of the man irritated Callum. He'd only encountered Cameron once, but had come away with an intense desire to punch the pompous man in the face.

Cameron was a traditionalist, and he felt that Callum's presence in the Guild was a betrayal of everything the Guild of Mages stood for. He was a half-blood, a blend of human and dragon physiology – with a  voidstone bonded with him to boot. Callum had access to levels of magical power that Cameron could only dream of, and he didn't like that.

He also wasn't fond of the fact that Clarence had reactivated the Order of Britain. Two centuries before, the original Order had been disbanded – at a hundred members strong, it had been a major force in the Guild of the day, and the head of the council at the time had feared that the agents of the Order would rebel against him. Cameron appreciated history, and with a Dragon-Blood and two of the Guilds brightest and best forming the basis of a new Order, those fears were at the forefront of his mind.

And he wanted Clarence's seat at the head of the council. The portly mage sat calmly as Cameron berated him.

“And when, pray tell, were you going to inform the council that the lattice had been compromised?”

“When it became necessary for the council to know, Mr Cameron. And the lattice has not, to our knowledge, been compromised.”

“That's not what my agents have informed me, Clarence! They've told me that several events have taken place.”

“'Events' is one term for it. They were murders, Mr Cameron, plain and simple.”

“Magically induced murders!”

“That is yet to be determined.”

“My agents say...”

“Have any of your agents been to the crime scenes? Have they looked at the evidence? Have they analysed the available information?” Clarence snapped.

Cameron looked momentarily taken aback, his face flustered.

“I didn't think so. Meanwhile, the Order of Britain has been at every event so far, looking at all the angles.”

Clarence got to his feet. Despite his bulk, Callum could see that he intimidated his fellow council member. In a Guild based around magical ability, power talks, and Clarence had plenty to spare. The air seemed to crackle around him as he stared down Cameron. Finally, the other councilman sat. Clarence remained standing, staring at him for a few moments, then he too seated himself.

“Investigations are ongoing, Mr Cameron, and will continue to be so. However, I have every confidence in the members of the Order. You're already aware of their recent successes.

“Ah yes, the bogeyman incident...” Cameron sneered.