The Osiris Ritual

Chapter Twenty-One

Veronica fought ineffectually against her bonds. The gag was dry and choking, and tasted stale with oil and grime. She tried her best to spit it out, but to no avail; she could gain no purchase on it with her tongue. Knox had known what he was doing when he'd forced it so deep into her throat.

She wondered where he had gone. Perhaps to confront Alfonso.

Veronica tried to move into a more comfortable position, taking the weight off her shoulder.

Beneath her, the cellar floor was cold and damp with condensation. It was clear the laboratory was a makeshift operation, a temporary workshop, and that Knox did not spend a great deal of time inhabiting it. From what she'd observed, she assumed he was now clearing out: the cancel ed show, the hurry to col ect up his work into the medicine bag. Either he had what he needed, or else he had discovered that she and Newbury were on his trail.

Veronica glanced at the door, but her eyes kept flitting back to the disturbing heap of corpses just beside it. She couldn't take her eyes off the faces of the dead girls. She thought it was perhaps the worst sight she had ever seen, worse even than al of those burnt, twisted cadavers she'd discovered on the wreck of The Lady Armitage, or the drained, desiccated corpses that she and Newbury had encountered at Huntington Manor. No, it was the heartlessness that disturbed her most, the careless manner in which the bodies had been tossed, used, into the corner, like commodities, like discarded meat. She hated the thought that a human being could be reduced to that. It was this, more than anything else, which offered her insight into Knox's cold, calculating mind. He was truly a monster. He would do anything for his own ends.

Veronica kicked at the ground in frustration. Knox knew what he was doing, that much was clear. The bonds with which she'd been tied were unbreakable. She could see no means of escape.

She heard footsteps from the passageway outside, and flinched. Knox was returning. It was likely she did not have long left to live. The footsteps approached the door. It creaked open. She found it hard to see the figure in the gloom of the passageway. A man in a suit. Yes, Knox. He stepped forward into the room.

Her heart leapt. Sir Maurice! It was Newbury. She tried to call out, but was able only to offer up a muffled squeal. Newbury turned at the sound and saw her there, sprawled on the floor. He rushed over to her side. Lifting her head, he reached inside her mouth and gently extracted the gag.

Veronica gasped for breath. "Sir Maurice! How?"

Newbury smiled softly, the relief evident on his face. "Well, Miss Hobbes, of late it seems I have provided you with ample opportunity to save my life, and you have done so on more occasions than I care to count. I felt this would be the appropriate opportunity to redress that balance."

"Oh, you foolish, brilliant man." Veronica smiled, warmly, and Newbury swept her up in his arms, cradling her to him. He held her there for what seemed like an age. She could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest, his breath becoming shal ow. He brushed her hair tenderly away from her eyes where it spilled loose over her face.

"I thought I'd lost you."

Veronica gave the briefest of nods. "Me too." She expected him to chastise her, but he only held her close, trying to make her feel safe once again. She wanted to sink into that embrace, to be away from this place, this horrible place with its stench of death and decay. Newbury knew her so well, knew where to find her in a crisis, knew everything about her.. except..

She had to put it out of mind. There was stil work to be done.

Newbury held her for a moment longer, before placing her gently back on the ground so that he could attend to her bonds. She looked up at him, noticing the state of his suit. "What -"

"Later. First we have to free you from these damnable knots." He reached into his pocket, searching for a penknife.

"What of Knox?" Her voice was hesitant.

Newbury indicated with his head. "Up there. He won't be going anywhere for a while. Except a cel, and then, perhaps, a hangman's noose."

"And Alfonso?"

"Dead."

"What! You…?"

Newbury shook his head. "No, Knox."

Veronica looked thoughtful, as Newbury gently held her ankles and cut the cord that bound her with a sharp flick of his wrist, slicing easily through the thin silken rope. He did the same to the tightly knotted cord around her wrists.

"He must be clearing out. He was finished down here." Veronica felt suddenly tired.

Newbury slipped the penknife back into his pocket and got to his feet, dusting off his hands. He glanced around at the room. He stopped, in startled horror, when he saw the pile of female corpses in the corner. "What the devil?"

"The devil is right. Knox is dangerous: cold, calculating and murderous. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. He's always been the same."

Newbury nodded absently. He paused for a moment, moving over to stoop over the nearest corpse. "What's this? Holes in their heads?" His face wrinkled in disgust.

"Yes." Newbury grasped the girl's head and turned it slowly from side to side, examining the bizarre wound. "He's obviously used this device, here, to bore a hole in their skul s. I think he's been extracting a secretion or hormone from their brains." Newbury straightened and turned to glance at the chair that Veronica was indicating. He marched over to it, grasping one of the large mechanical arms and swinging it round so that he could see the deadly drill bit. He ran his fingers over the tiny pistons that control ed the movement of the arm itself, seeming to admire the craftsmanship. Then, with his fingertips, he followed the trailing cable that ran from the end of the arm in a wide loop around the back of the device. A moment later he re-emerged from the rear of the chair, a small glass vial clutched in his hand. It was filled with a brown, brackish fluid. He held it up for Veronica to see.

"Hmmm." Newbury looked confused. "But what exactly was he extracting? And more importantly, why?" He looked at the bottle in disgust. "Let's see if we can have this analysed." He checked the stopper and then slipped the smal glass bottle into his jacket pocket.

He crossed to the workbench, where a smattering of artefacts was stil in situ: a few drawings, some scraps of paper covered in scrawled hieroglyphs and the broken shells of three ushabti figurines. Newbury's eyes widened as he recognised the items. He stared at the table for a while, before picking up the remnants of one of the statues. "This is one of the pieces I saw at Lord Winthrop's house, at Albion House! Have you seen them? They've been broken in two. Knox was after the contents. My God." His voice was a low growl. "It was Knox all along." He cast the broken idol back on the tabletop. "The Osiris Ritual. That's why he's here, in London." He turned to her.

"Miss Hobbes, that mummy, the screaming mummy that Winthrop found in Thebes. It's the remains of an ancient priest, a priest who was mummified alive and cursed by the Pharaoh for attempting to extend his life in the physical world. I'll wager these idols contained the secrets of his discoveries, that these poor girls gave their lives to provide some sort of ingredient for the ritual." He slammed his fist on the workbench. "And here I was chasing Ashford halfway across London. Ashford would most likely have led me to Knox, given half a chance. It all makes sense now. Ashford saved my life earlier today. He may be rogue, but he's not a kil er. He's out for revenge. He wants Knox."

Veronica sighed. "I should have realised. If I'd helped you.. if I'd been there. Knox was always your man, Sir Maurice. He was always obsessed with extending his life. It's the motivation that drives him, that gives him purpose. Alfonso was just a cover, a means of obtaining the girls. Knox is the key to all of this, to Winthrop, the mummy, and to the girls." She indicated the other gruesome occupants of the room with a wave of her hand.

Newbury, however, was wearing a mystified expression, and seemed unable to take his eyes off her. She realised, in a panic, that she had said too much. Did he know? Had she given it away? Had she said it on purpose? She wanted so much to tel Newbury the truth, had she revealed the information about Knox as a means of setting him on the right trail? No. She had done it because the information was fundamental to the case. Newbury needed to know that Knox was responsible for the deaths, and that Ashford – presumably the missing agent that Newbury had been fol owing – was not. She had done it for the good of the Empire. Or so she wanted so much to believe. But somehow she still felt hollow inside.

Unsure what else to do, she joined Newbury at the table and began sifting through the remaining papers, looking for anything that might help her to explain her outburst. She felt her cheeks flush hot and red, and silently cursed herself for her actions. Newbury appeared to accept this without comment. He moved around the table, continuing to sort through the remaining pieces of ushabti.

Veronica was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. "The bag!"

"What bag?"

"The bag by the door. The medicine bag. Knox was sorting through the items on the table here, stuffing them into his bag: vials full of liquid, papers, artefacts. Clearly the results of his experiments.

He must have what he needed."

Newbury turned, looking for the bag. "What – where is ' this bag?"

"There, by the door. I saw him set it down before he left." Veronica turned to see there was no bag. She shrugged. "He must have taken it with him when he left."

"Hmmm. We'll find it up there, by the stage, no doubt. It'll be al the evidence we need to link Knox to the murders." He studied Veronica intently. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, yes, I'm quite well."

"Are you sure?"

"Sir Maurice.." Her voice was stern. Newbury met her gaze. He nodded once, and then extended his arm. She took it grateful y.

"Come on. Let's find that bag and go and fetch the police. It's time to get Charles here." They left the dank cel ar, stepping out into the passageway, along which Newbury guided Veronica carefully, allowing her to lean on him as he edged his way through the warren. It was long and narrow and must have wound halfway under the theatre. Veronica had no real notion of where they were in relation to the auditorium above.

After a short while, their feet scuffing on the rough stone floor, Newbury dipped his head under a stone archway and took a left turn, leading her to a wooden door. He had obviously come this way earlier. "Through here." He ushered her through to the wooden stairwell beyond. She mounted the bottom step.

Newbury cleared his throat, causing her to pause and look back. "Veronica," – she noted the use of her first name – "can you face him? After all of this, I mean."

"Who, Knox?"

"Yes. He's quite incapacitated, of course. But if you'd rather leave by another exit, I wouldn't think anything less of you." He looked concerned. "I could see you to a carriage?"

"Sir Maurice, I appreciate that, very much. But it won't be necessary. I'm quite ready to face him again."

"As you say."

The stairs creaked as they made their way slowly towards the light. A moment later they emerged, squinting, from a small wooden trapdoor just off to one side of the stage. Veronica blinked, blearily, as her eyes adjusted to the sharp electric light, after hours spent in the gloomy depths of the basement. She righted herself on the stage, and then turned to watch Newbury pul ing himself out of the opening. She offered him a hand as he steadied himself. She could see where a large red carpet had been rolled away to reveal the secret trapdoor. The cellar in which Knox had set up his temporary workshop had once been a storage room for props, she supposed, or else a space for the actors to rest or effect a quick change of costume as they traversed the tunnel beneath the stage, quitting the boards at stage right, only to reappear a short while later at stage left. Now, she shuddered as she considered the sinister purpose to which Aubrey Knox had put it to use.

Newbury strode forward onto the stage, stopping to sweep up one of the swords from Alfonso's rack. Clearly, he was not underestimating the resourcefulness of the rogue doctor. A little further across the stage, near to the hatch into which Veronica had tumbled a few hours earlier, Alfonso the magician lay dead. His arms and legs were both outstretched, describing a bizarre star shape, and his chest was covered in a dark crimson stain. His jaw was open, slackly, and his eyes were staring at the rafters.

"Oh God," was al she could murmur. She had seen so much death that day already. Despite Alfonso's terrible role in Knox's plot, despite what he had done to her, she could not feel relief at the sight of his rigid corpse. That was too much. She averted her eyes.

"Veronica! Here!" She turned to see Newbury throw the sword down upon the stage in frustration.

She ran to his side. "What is it?"

"Knox. He's gone." He indicated the row of seats just to the left of the stage. "I left him here, pinned to the chair, a blade driven through his hand. I trussed his other with my neck tie. How the devil did he get away?"

Veronica glanced around, looking for any indication that the man may stil be in the theatre.

"He's long gone. And no doubt his medicine bag has gone with him." He turned to Veronica, and she could see the anger burning behind his eyes. "You were right. He's clearing out. He has what he wanted, and now he'll disappear, just like he did all those years ago. I underestimated him. I'm a ruddy fool."

Veronica sighed. She couldn't bear to see Newbury torturing himself in such a manner. "You saved my life. That has to count for something."

His face softened. "Miss Hobbes, it counts for everything. But it doesn't alter the fact that I allowed him to escape."

Veronica put her hand on his arm. "Let's check the rear exit."

Newbury nodded. It was clear he did not expect to find anything. He fol owed behind Veronica, alert, as she crossed the stage and took the steps down to the main auditorium, two at a time. They passed close by the seat to which Knox, until recently, had been bound. Veronica could see where the blade had pierced the seat back, shredding the fabric and staining it with dark blood. Now, both man and sword had gone. Newbury's black tie lay discarded on the floor, stil knotted. He didn't pick it up.

Together, they hurried around the side of the stage and Rushed their way through the double doors that led to the actors enclosure, where they had first met Alfonso, lounging idly in his dressing room. At the end of the long corridor, the door to the street was hanging open, banging noisily against the wall in the breeze. The hinges creaked and groaned with the strain. Outside, it was dark, and the swirling fog gave everything a murky, hazy appearance. Veronica ran to the threshold, peering out into the night. There was no sign of Knox, or the medicine bag.

Newbury was right. Somehow, the doctor had escaped.