The Osiris Ritual

Chapter Twenty

N ewbury dropped to one knee, running his hands around the edges of the open hatch in the stage. It was dark below, and there were no moveable lamps with which he could examine the trapdoor more closely. Nevertheless, he could see inside that the drop was around eight feet deep, and terminated in two metal runners that appeared to slope away to the right, dipping under the stage to disappear further underground. Clearly, during the disappearing act, Alfonso would position the girl over the hatch and then foot the paddle, dropping her swiftly into the hole beneath.

Newbury guessed the victim would land in some kind of padded cart or box, which would then rol away on the tracks beneath, depositing the girl somewhere else i n the building.

It was ingenious – a masterpiece of engineering – and having seen the illusion performed first-hand, Newbury knew just how effective it appeared to the onlooker. He rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin. The strange thing was that the trap had been triggered at all. The weight of Alfonso's body had opened the hatch – clearly – but what intrigued Newbury was the fact that the cart itself was missing from beneath the stage. The mechanism had been used, but had not yet been reset. A body had been dropped into the missing cart. It could, of course, have been a simple case of tardiness, but in the back of his mind, Newbury feared that if Veronica had come to this dismal place, she may have discovered first-hand exactly how the girls were being whisked away.

Newbury paused, suddenly alert. Somewhere in the shadows, off to the other side of the stage, he thought he had heard a footstep. He waited.

Nothing.

He got to his feet. There! Not a footstep, but something else. The rasping sound of a sword being drawn carefully from a scabbard. Newbury felt himself stiffen. There was someone there, watching him, in the shadows. Someone bearing a weapon. He looked around for something he could use to defend himself. The rack of Alfonso's swords was off to one side, near to the source of the sound. There was the blade sticking out of the magician's rigid corpse, but Newbury knew that it would take him a moment to tug it free, and in doing so he would alert whoever was lurking in the shadows to the fact that he was aware of their presence. That could leave him dangerously exposed.

He considered jumping into the hatch, but with the mechanism already triggered he did not know what to expect at the other end, and did not want to find himself trapped in an underground shaft with no means of escape. His options were limited. Reluctantly, he decided to cal his opponent out.

Unarmed, it was a dangerous course of action, but nevertheless, he wanted whoever it was lurking off stage in plain view.

"If you're going to remain there in the shadows, I'll feel compelled to carry on with my investigation. I don't have time to stand around waiting for you." His voice echoed out around the empty auditorium. He heard a man chuckling in the darkness. And then a figure emerged, drifting out of the shadows like a ghost suddenly adopting corporeal form. The man strol ed -boldly forward, his sword held, unusual y, in his left hand. The blade glinted in the harsh electric light.

"Bravo! Bravo! I admire your panache." The man stopped as he entered the circle of light thrown down by the electric lamp. "So, you're Newbury. How I've wanted to meet my successor."

Newbury blanched. His successor? Then this was the much-maligned Dr. Aubrey Knox. How did he fit into the picture? Was he the one behind the missing girls? And what else? It seemed too significant a coincidence that both he and Ashford should surface in London at the same time. There had to be a connection. Perhaps Ashford really was looking for revenge. Perhaps that's why he was here, after al this time. But now was not the time to ponder on it. Newbury met his opponent's gaze. "Dr. Aubrey Knox. I can't say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Knox laughed. "We're not so different, you and I. Not so different at all. You shouldn't listen to everything that others tel you, Newbury. Perhaps it is only your misguided sense of duty that sets us apart."

Newbury shook his head. "No, we are not alike. I am nothing like you at all." He was curious to see how the situation would play out. He knew very little of his predecessor, little more than he'd learned in the last few days. He wondered if the man would live up to his fearsome reputation.

Knox came forward, further into the light. "You sound like Charles. How is the old boy?"

Newbury glanced across the stage at the rack of swords. His response was terse. "Well enough."

Knox grinned. "Yes, I always thought the job would wear him down. Stil, I suspect he'll hold on until the bitter end. Wouldn't, be like Charles to throw in the towel." He paused, smiling. "Oh, and Miss Hobbes sends her regards."

Newbury's curiosity about the man ignited into rage. Knox was taunting him. He clearly knew what had become of Veronica; more than likely had a hand in it, also. Newbury sprang into action.

He rushed forward, catching Knox off guard so that he could batter the other man's sword arm easily to one side and bring his elbow up sharply into the pale man's face. Carrying forward with his momentum whilst Knox was dazed, Newbury darted towards the rack of swords, grasped one by the hilt and swept it out from its wooden notch. He spun around, presenting the point of the weapon to Knox.

There was little more than three feet between them. Knox al owed his sword arm to idle casually by his side. He was laughing, spitting blood. "So, perhaps she is more than a pet, after all."

Newbury decided that enough was enough. He could not allow this man to slight Veronica in such a manner. He would wound him, force him to reveal what he had done with Veronica, and then take him in. Or, if it came to it, he would run him through. He lurched forward, the point of his sabre singing out towards the other man's breast.

Knox moved like lightning. One minute, he was standing nonchalantly eyeing Newbury, jesting with him; the next his arm had flashed up in a blindingly quick parry, and he was facing the Crown detective, his wiry body poised, ready for the interplay of the two weapons. He was still laughing as Newbury thrust again, and once more was parried. Newbury had fenced in his youth, but Knox, it seemed, was an expert. He sent Newbury's thrusts wide each time, with only the smal est flick of his wrist. He barely seemed to draw breath whilst doing so. Newbury recognised the tactic. Knox was attempting to tire him out. He could not let that happen. Ceasing his series of ineffectual thrusts, he drew back, his sword at the ready.

"Oh, come, come, Sir Maurice. Haven't you the stomach for a good fight? I was quite enjoying our little tete-a-tete." He shifted again, reaching forward with his blade, his foot stamping the floor as he threw his weight behind the movement. Newbury felt a flash of pain on his right cheek. Knox recovered his poise, and Newbury realised that blood was flowing freely from a cut on his face. He hadn't even had chance to react. He was clearly outclassed.

Knox smiled. He had a superior air about him, as if he were enjoying the encounter, knowing ful well that of the two men, he currently had the upper hand. When he spoke it was almost genial, as if he and Newbury were nothing but two old acquaintances, sharing a conversation at a gentlemen's club. "Fight me, Newbury! I can see the fire behind your eyes. You want to know what I've done with her, don't you?"

Newbury, composing himself, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. He kept his blade low, ready, waiting. He would not rise to the other man's taunts. "Tell me where she is, Knox, and I shal let you live." His voice was a low growl.

"Hmmm. Quite a dilemma. I didn't have you down as the sort of chap to make idle threats, Newbury. That's a crashing disappointment." He was sneering now, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Newbury hoped he was coming to the end of his game. If Knox had no time for idle threats, Newbury had no time for cat and mouse. He may not have been able to demonstrate such finesse with a blade, but what he lacked in theatrics, he gained in brute force and spirit.

"There is nothing idle about the threat, Knox."

Knox whipped out his blade, aiming high, but Newbury caught it easily, their swords ringing out as they clattered, tick, tick, tick, whilst the two men thrust and parried frenetically. Searching for a means to gain the upper hand, Newbury eyed the stage behind the doctor. The hatch was stil open.

If he could manoeuvre the fight just a few feet closer towards that narrow opening, he reasoned he'd be able to send Knox crashing backwards into it. The difficulty came in circumnavigating the body of Alfonso, spread-eagled on the boards between the two fighting men and the hole.

Newbury met Knox's gaze as their swords crossed, staring deep into the other man's eyes. He repressed a shudder. The man was cold and seemed to extract a discernible relish from the thrill of the fight, from the danger. Newbury recognised himself in that, and it repulsed him. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing his twisted reflection glare back at him, all sense of his humanity removed. He understood Charles's words, now, and they angered him. His path was not pre-determined. He would not al ow himself to become a monster like the odious wretch he now faced.

Newbury knew not to cross the line. Knox appeared to relish the opportunity to do so.

Knox's left eye twinkled, and Newbury watched the tiny red pinpricks of light describe a circle, as whatever device had been buried inside the blinded organ turned, tightening Knox's focus. Such stunning artifice could only be the work of one man: Dr. Lucius Fabian.

The two men broke apart, dancing, careful y, around the corpse of the dead magician. Newbury made a concerted effort to drive the other man back. Knox stepped backwards over Alfonso's legs, placing the body between them. Their swords hovered above the unseeing corpse. "So, what of your accomplice, Knox? Did he offend you in some way?" Newbury glanced briefly at the dead man.

Knox shrugged. "He'd outlived his usefulness. Besides, he was always a conniving toad."

"But he sourced the girls for you through his stage act? And you cherry-picked the ones you wanted. For what purpose?"

Knox's lips curled in amusement. "Newbury, if you want to discuss it we can down our blades and smoke a cigarette together like gentlemen. Otherwise, let us put an end to this encounter. It's becoming tedious." The man's flippancy was astonishing, but it provided Newbury with the opening he needed. He slashed out with his blade, causing Knox to lurch backwards to avoid having his chest opened in a streak from right to left. The tip of the sword tore through his jacket and shirt, opening a wide smile in the fabric. As Newbury reached the end of the movement, however, he flicked the blade upwards, using the tip of his sword to catch the hilt of Knox's sword and whipping it clean out of his hand. The weapon sailed across the stage, clattering loudly to the boards.

To Knox's credit, he barely allowed the situation to faze him. Whilst Newbury was recovering from his swing, Knox reached for the blade that he had left buried in Alfonso's chest, and with a powerful tug to free the tip from the stage below, he pulled it clear of the corpse. Blood sprayed in a shower as he brought the weapon to bear. Alfonso, then, had not been dead for long.

Blood was still trickling down Knox's chin where Newbury had caught him earlier with his elbow.

Yet he seemed to be enjoying the encounter, the rush of the battle, the opportunity to taunt the man who was currently living his earlier life.

Newbury's face, in turn, was set with grim determination. With every second that passed, with every one of Knox's arrogant remarks, he grew more and more anxious for Veronica's safety.

Knox was now only a few feet away from the open hatch in the stage. Newbury pressed on with a series of deft, forceful strikes. He thrust relentlessly at Knox, not attempting to strike the man, but todrive him backwards, forcing him to parry, constantly, and to distract him from where his feet were taking him. Newbury knew he was leaving himself open to a counter-attack, but at the same time, he was succeeding in forcing the other man back towards the hole. Clambering over Alfonso's body, trying desperately not to lose his footing, he pushed forward.

The two men fel into a smooth rhythm: thrust, parry; thrust, parry. The steel blades clanged noisily. Slowly, they inched towards the open hatch. Newbury-was growing hot and tired. The rooftop dash and the fight on the Underground had taken it out of him, and he knew his endurance would soon reach its limit. And the need for laudanum was a persistent itch, growing in intensity with every moment that passed.

As Knox neared the lip of the hole, Newbury took his chance. Using the flat of his blade to batter Knox's sword wide, he leapt into the air, kicking out, his foot connecting hard with Knox's breastbone. But the man had been expecting as much. Pivoting around on his left foot, he swung himself out of danger, narrowly missing the hole. He came to rest at a right angle to Newbury, his back to the empty auditorium. He was chuckling. "Real y, Newbury, if you'd expected to-"

Knox's words were lost as Newbury's fist thundered into his face. His head snapped to the side and Newbury stepped closer, dropping his weapon so that he could rain blow after blow into the other man with both fists. Knox sputtered and tried to raise his sword, but Newbury beat him back, providing no opportunities for him to retaliate. Spittle and blood flew into the air as Newbury pounded Knox's face. He knew he did not have the finesse of a swordsman, but at Oxford he had taken to the ring and he was quick with his fists. Knox staggered backwards, heading towards the edge of the stage. Newbury saw his opportunity. He stepped in close again and aimed a powerful hook at Knox's kidney. As Knox bent forward with a rasping gasp, Newbury shoved him over the edge.

Knox tumbled backwards, crying out as he struck the ground. Newbury dashed forward to see.

Knox was attempting to gather himself. He shuffled backwards on his hands and feet, still clutching the sabre tightly in his fist like a talisman. He looked dazed, and his face was raw and puffy from the battering. His good eye darted from left to right, as if he were trying to work out from which direction his assailant would come next.

Newbury could find no sympathy for the man. He wanted only to know what had become of Veronica, and to bring the criminal to justice. At the back of his mind, however, he recognised that he also needed to prove, to himself and to Charles and the others, that he and Knox were not as alike as they had imagined. He hopped down from the stage, standing over the rogue agent as Knox pul ed his head and shoulders up against the front row of seats. He lay there panting for breath.

Newbury stepped closer. He needed to bind the man, to stop him from escaping. But first he needed some answers.

Knox had not given up, however. As Newbury leaned over to reach for Knox's col ar, Knox flicked out his left hand, stabbing at Newbury with the point of his sword. Newbury was ready for him, though, and leaned back, grasping the hilt of the sword and fol owing Knox's move through, so that the sword swept in a tight arc in front of him. He forced the blade down, hard, driving the point of the weapon through the outstretched palm of Knox's right hand, spearing him to the back of the nearest seat. Knox howled in agony as Newbury pushed the sword deeper, pinning the doctor in place.

Twisting Knox's other hand free from the hilt of the sword, Newbury looked down at him in disgust, and slapped him hard across the face. "Where is she?" Knox was stil laughing, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. Newbury struck him again and repeated his question.

"Where is she?"

Knox looked up at him, his strange, milky eye regarding the Crown investigator with something approaching admiration. "In the basement. She's still alive."

Newbury straightened. Grasping at his own col ar, he pul ed his necktie free. He stooped, using it to bind Knox's free hand to a post between two other chairs. In this state, the man had no chance of escaping. Newbury would come back for him. He needed to find Veronica.

Wiping his brow on the sleeve of his jacket, Newbury crossed to the stage. He staggered up the wooden stairs. Backstage, he would find the route to the network of underground rooms beneath the theatre, and from there, hopeful y, Veronica.

Glancing once more over his shoulder at the pitiful figure of Aubrey Knox – who lay there with his arms outstretched, the sword blade pinning his hand to a seat, his body propped awkwardly against the front row – Newbury knew that he would soon have more answers. But one thing was certain. Knox was not the fearsome monster that Charles had claimed him to be. For that he was more than grateful.

Sighing, Newbury slipped into the shadows behind the curtains.