The Osiris Ritual

Chapter Seven

Ashford, you say? It's a long time since I last heard that name." Sir Charles Bainbridge, Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard, moved about behind his desk, shuffling papers, a flustered expression on his face. He was older than Newbury, just over fifty, with greying temples and a big, bushy moustache. He was dressed in a grey suit, with a white starched collar and black neck tie. He glanced up at Newbury, who was sitting in a chair off to one side, watching his friend as he went about his business. "Why do you ask?"

Newbury stroked his chin thoughtful y. He hadn't real y decided how to put it yet. "Her Majesty has asked me to find him."

Bainbridge nodded and looked down at the stack of papers in his hands. Then, realisation dawning behind his eyes, he dropped the papers into a heap and looked back at Newbury, before lowering himself into the chair behind his desk.

"Newbury, William Ashford has been dead for over five years. What on earth are you going on about?"

Newbury nodded. Clearly Bainbridge wasn't aware of Ashford's remarkable second life. "Indeed.

That, apparently, is the received wisdom on the matter. But it transpires that there is more to Ashford's death than meets the eye."

Bainbridge looked confused. "Stop talking cryptical y and get on with it, Newbury."

Newbury gave a curt nod. "You start. What can you tel me about Ashford? What sort of man was he, and how did he die?"

Bainbridge sat back in his chair. "He was a good man, I'll venture that much. I knew him fairly well. He was married, with two children. A boy and a girl, if I remember correctly. He was a good agent – hard, but fair. He always had the best interests of the Empire at heart."

Newbury nodded, glancing out of the window. In the yard below, a group of uniformed men were readying a police carriage. He turned to meet Charles's gaze. "So how did he die?"

"It was a nasty business, Newbury, and not something I care to remember."

Newbury furrowed his brow. It was unusual for Bainbridge to be so reserved. "Come on, Charles! This is important." He banged his fist on the table with impatience.

Bainbridge sighed. He leaned forward in his chair again. "What do you know of Dr. Aubrey Knox?"

"Not a great deal. Former agent. Lost in action about the same time as Ashford. It's never really come up."

"There's an explanation for that, Newbury. It's never come up for a reason."

"Go on."

"Knox was a genius. A brilliant man, who, like you, had a fascination with the occult sciences. He was one of the shining lights of Her Majesty's secret circle; he had proved himself to b e a reliable, loyal subject for over ten years, and his service record was impeccable. He took on many of the same sorts of cases that you take on now: anything strange, psychological, paranormal, supernatural. He had a depth of knowledge surpassed by none in the Empire, yet he didn't crave personal recognition.

He wrote no papers, attended no lectures. In many ways he was the perfect agent; quite brilliant, but quiet, effective, and unassuming."

"What happened to him? Is it al tied up with Ashford?"

Bainbridge nodded. "It was midway through eighteen ninety-six. June, I think. There was a botched assignment. I'm not sure of the details, but something went wrong. Something that everyone expected to be an easy job. Somehow, somewhere in the aftermath, it was brought to the attention of Her Majesty that Knox had been pursuing his own interests. He'd become obsessed with the practice of the occult. Agents were sent to his laboratory in Ladbroke Grove. They discovered that he'd been experimenting on human subjects: waifs, whores, paupers. No one knew what he was trying to do, but we were all appalled by it. It wasn't just the work of an enquiring mind. You should have seen the place, Newbury. It's burned into my mind. The things he'd done.. he should be damned to hell for all eternity. Anyway, a warrant was issued for his arrest. Ashford was given the case. He was told to find Knox and bring him in, whatever the cost."

Pausing, Bainbridge stood, crossed the room and collected two brandy glasses from a shelf by the door. He reached into a cupboard and searched out a plain glass decanter, from which he removed the stopper and sloshed an ample measure of brandy into each glass. He returned to his desk and handed one of the drinks to Newbury. He looked pale. "Bit early, I know.." He shrugged.

His tone changed. "Now, Newbury, you must understand that Ashford was very much unlike you or I.

His disposition was entirely different. Put him in a room with a foreign agent and he'd make them talk, without even batting an eyelid. He was the sort of man who could bring down a network of criminals with sheer brute force. Simple, but effective. 'A tool', Her Majesty would call him, for when we needed 'something a little stronger'. But he had no experience of the occult, no sense of what he was getting himself into with Knox. And Knox, for his part, knew how to play him." Bainbridge sighed. "Ashford tracked Knox across the country for months, finally cornering him back here in London. But Knox was expecting him and had laid a trap. No one is sure exactly what happened to Ashford, but his body was found mangled in an abandoned warehouse near the docks, ripped apart, as if he'd been torn open like a paper doll. Knox was never heard from again."

"So he got away? No one went after him?"

"Plenty of people went after him. But no one ever found him. He disappeared. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Her Majesty still had people looking for him now, all over the world. But poor old Ashford was buried a few days later, and I had to break the news to his wife. It was a sorry business indeed."

"So why have I never heard of this before?"

"Because, Newbury, you were brought in to replace him. In many ways you're the same sort of man: brilliant, dedicated, effective. But even the very best of men are fallible. Don't think that I don't know about your fondness for the laudanum, for a start."

"Look, let's not get into that now."

Bainbridge took a long draw on his brandy. "The Queen is worried. Not because she doubts you, you understand; but because she's seen it before. Knox left a bad taste in her mouth. In al our mouths. She's concerned that, one day, you may drift too close to the line, that the allure of the occult is too strong, not just for you, but for any man."

Newbury gripped the arms of his chair. "God damn it, Charles! That's ridiculous. How can she equate me with a man like that? I have a mind to head back there now, to have it out of her myself!"

Bainbridge slammed his drink down on his desk with a bang. "Don't be a fool, Newbury! Didn't you hear what I said?

It's precisely that sort of behaviour that Her Majesty is trying to avoid." He stood, looking down at his friend. "Newbury, we've been friends for a long time. Listen to me when I tell you this. Stay away from this. It'll do you no good. Ashford is dead, Knox is lost, and you, my friend, are one of the finest men I know. It wouldn't do to mix yourself up in this business. The Queen has nothing to fear.

I've told her that myself. She's simply trying to protect you."

Newbury looked up at Bainbridge, resignation in his eyes. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Charles. Ashford isn't dead, at least not in the way you think he is."

"What?"

"The Queen told me herself, just this morning. It's all starting to make a horrible sort of sense.

After what happened at the docks – after they found Ashford's shredded remains -Dr. Fabian took the body to his laboratory and rebuilt him. He's still alive, but he's barely human. Her Majesty said he is a blunt instrument' and 'no longer a man in the way that I'd understand it'. He's been living undercover in St. Petersburg for five years. Now, for some reason, he's gone rogue. He's probably somewhere in London as we speak. Her Majesty thinks he's returned to wreak vengeance, that he's probably half mad. She's charged me with bringing him in."

Bainbridge flushed red. He looked flustered. "My God.." He grabbed for his glass and downed the rest of his brandy in one long gulp. "It seems that I don't know everything, after all."

"I'm beginning to think it's an epidemic." Newbury took a pul on his own brandy. "Do you think he's come looking for Knox?"

"Perhaps. I don't know. Knox hasn't been heard of for years. 'There could be other reasons."

"Such as?"

Bainbridge shrugged. "Al I know is that the Ashford I knew would never go rogue. Not without a damn good reason. Perhaps he's on to something. Perhaps he's following a trail. Or perhaps he really has lost his mind."

Newbury nodded, slowly. "Perhaps. Being half-dead for five years, trapped in Russia without his family. No one could blame him." He placed his empty tumbler on the edge of Bainbridge's mahogany desk. "Wil you help me, Charles? I don't even know where to begin."

The Chief Inspector looked pained. "Newbury.. I can't. I have no time. I'm about to head out to the scene of a murder. A high-profile one, too. A lord has been found dead in his home. I need to attend to it before I can think of anything else."

Newbury smiled. "Of course. Can I ask – what are the circumstances?"

"It's all rather rum. Lord Henry Winthrop, found dead in his drawing room at Albion House. He held an extravagant soiree on Tuesday evening, something to do with a mummy unrol ing. He'd just returned from an expedition to Egypt. It looks like a bungled robbery, according to the chaps on the scene. The burglar may have been disturbed by Winthrop: there's not a great deal missing. We're wondering if someone scoped the place out during the party and tried to come back the next day."

Newbury was already on his feet. "Charles! I was there. Two nights ago, at the party. I spoke to Winthrop. My God.."

"What! Then you could be of use to me on the scene. Can you talk me through what happened there?"

"Of course. I may even be able to point you to a suspect. There was a heated exchange at the party between Winthrop and a man named Blake. Wilfred Blake. He left under a heavy cloud."

"Good man! Come on, grab your coat. The carriage should be ready and waiting. Once we've got this nasty business out of the way I can help you with Ashford, assuming that he doesn't show his hand in the meantime." Bainbridge strode over to the coat stand in the corner and col ected his overcoat, gloves and cane. Newbury fol owed suit. He couldn't help but wonder if, somehow, Winthrop's death would prove to be connected to the mystery surrounding the screaming mummy.

But it was not enough of a distraction to quell the rising feeling of disquiet that gripped him, tightly, in the chest, every time he considered Bainbridge's words: "The Queen is worried.. even the very best of men are fallible."

He knew that feeling only too well himself.

Together, the two men set out for Albion House.