“He said that?” asked Kane. “Not gangs?”
“We know no gang would have done it, Boss,” said the old man.
“We know that, Jackson, but I am interested as to whether they did.”
“Well, that’s what they said,” confirmed Martin. “Though they sounded as thick as this water to be honest.”
“I would trust you to perform many tasks,” said Kane, “but not to judge the intelligence of others. Why did you say they were looking for work?”
“They mentioned your name,” Klaus said.
“Only after someone else did,” insisted Martin. “The old bloke who was doing all the talking, he said it first.”
Kane looked to Klaus. “Did he?”
Klaus shrugged. “I do not remember. But I thought we should question them about it …”
“We followed them for a bit,” Martin interrupted. “But they knew their way around and gave us the slip.”
“They knew you were following?”
“He tried to put one of his knives in them, so they weren’t in much doubt.”
Kane walked over to Klaus, towering over the man. “You tried to kill them?”
“No,” Klaus’ voice trembled. He had expected Martin to be on the receiving end of Kane’s irritation, not himself. “Just slow them down.”
“Slow them down?” Kane shook his head, its massive, shapeless form casting a shadow across the wall. “I imagine a knife in the back would do that, yes.”
“What do you care, anyway?” Klaus asked, becoming even more defensive. “So what if I do kill some worthless navy trash?”
“You kill when I tell you to kill,” Kane replied. “Because you work for me. People who work for me do as they’re told.”
“All right,” Klaus said, holding up his hands. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Kane asked. “Do you understand completely?” He reached out and took Klaus’ hands, pinching them between the shiny black pincers of his leather mittens. “Because you like working for me, don’t you?”
“Yes! Yes!” Klaus tried to pull his hands away but Kane held them firmly.
“Good,” Kane said. “Then I will not hurt your knife-throwing hand.” There was a cracking noise as Kane crushed the fingers of Klaus’ left hand. He barely seemed to move, as if all he needed to do was squeeze. Whatever the reason for those strange mittens, they concealed powerful hands.
I drew a breath, suppressing my distaste and fear. It was the tiniest noise, much too quiet to carry as far as the platform. Nonetheless, Kane turned towards us, inclining his head as if craning to listen. The light of the lantern fell behind Kane’s hooded head for a moment and I caught sight of its shape beneath the black netting. It was utterly deformed, elongated and protruding in all the wrong places. No wonder he chose to keep it hidden. Just a glimpse of it had been enough to send a shiver down my spine. If that hadn’t done so then his next words certainly would have done:
“We are being watched!” he said, twisting that deformed head again, this time in the other direction. I was reminded of a pigeon inclining itself from one side to the other. He inhaled sharply before pointing directly towards us. “There!” he shouted. “Two of them!”
“Holmes,” I said, “run! I shall get us a head start.”
So saying, I raised my revolver and loosed two rounds. I am not a bad shot, despite the fact that my army career was dedicated to saving lives rather than taking them. Though I freely admit the fact that I hit both of the lanterns I was aiming for was lucky. They ejected their flaming oil in a spray over the heads of Kane’s gang, offering a perfect distraction as we turned into the darkness and began to run.
Those first few steps were disorientating: blinded from the flash of light that had accompanied the exploding lantern, I found the darkness all the more impenetrable as I followed Holmes. Keeping my elbow against the bricks to my left, I used the wall to guide me, rather than my eyes. We needed to be quick but also sure-footed. If we stumbled off the path and into the water then they would catch us for sure.
Behind us the sound of panicked shouts began to coalesce into something more purposeful. Kane’s gang had presumably extinguished the small fires I had caused and were now preparing to follow. As I listened, I heard the noises of something closer—a laboured, snarling breathing and the heavy fall of booted feet. I imagined Kane himself, forcing his large bulk along the narrow pathway, determined not to let us slip away from him. The noises drew closer and closer. There was no sign of light from a lantern, so I could only assume he was as blind as we were. It seemed to cause him less discomfort. Closer and closer came the sound of his boots, heavy leather soles beating at the wet brick. Each footfall boasted of his size and weight, a giant’s tread. I had seen how easily he had snapped bone between his fingers—were those grotesque leather mittens even now reaching out for me? I could swear that laboured breathing was mere feet away now, so close as to almost dampen the back of my neck.
I turned and fired blindly into the darkness. In the muzzle flash I caught a terrifying glimpse of Kane who was indeed almost within reach. His hat and veil had come loose and the face that leered at me in that sudden moment of illumination was a dark, terrible thing of teeth and pink maw. The image was so brief as to be impossible to fix, though it clung to me even as I heard him splash into the water—whether darting for cover, or because I actually hit him, I could not say. I turned back to keep running but with every step I saw that terrible face. What kind of wound could have exposed so much of his mouth? As if the cheeks had been split wide either side so his head could hinge by those monstrous teeth. Whatever had caused his deformity, I could understand only too well his desire to hide it.
“Watson!” Holmes shouted.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “How much farther?”
For a moment my foot grazed the edge of the path and I came close to losing my balance and tumbling into the sewer water alongside. I held my hand out to steady myself.
“Just keep running!” Holmes replied.
Kane was splashing in the water, presumably pulling himself back out to continue the chase. As I listened further, I realised he was actually swimming, his gang heading after us on foot. As he continued to pull himself through the water with those powerful arms I ran after Holmes, hoping that he would find escape soon. Surely we didn’t have to exit by the same manhole we entered? Wouldn’t anywhere do at this point?
He seemed to answer my thoughts, his hand darting out of the darkness and grabbing me by the lapel as I made to run past.
“This way,” he said, tugging me upwards where it now became clear that a ladder was mounted to take us towards street level.
I climbed as fast as I could. Which, with the sounds of pursuit still all too close, was fast indeed. There was a clatter above my head as the steel cover was lifted and pushed aside.
“Quickly man!” came Holmes’ voice.
As I felt the cool air of the world above hit my face, I was aware of the ladder shaking beneath me. Someone else—and it could be only Kane—had begun to climb.
“Right behind me,” I said as I pulled myself out onto the road surface. I hadn’t exaggerated either. The ladder had been shaken violently enough that it would surely soon come loose from its fastenings.
“Move!” Holmes cried, standing over the hole and placing what looked like a small blowpipe to his lips. He blew and the most awful roar of pain echoed up from beneath the street. A second later this was followed by a loud splash; Kane had clearly fallen back into the water.
“Dear Lord!” I cried. “What did you shoot him with?”
“No explanations,” Holmes replied, infuriatingly, dragging the manhole cover back into place and dropping the pipe into his pocket. “Now, might I suggest we find a cab to take us to safe territory before the rest of his gang are on our heels?”