“I am at your disposal, Sir Maurice. I shall do what I can.” Fabian smirked. Did he already know what Newbury was about to ask? That knowing look suggested that he did. Or perhaps it was simply arrogance, a sign that he was enjoying being asked for help.
“Thank you. I would be obliged if you could enlighten me as to the nature of your relationship with Sir Enoch Graves and the Bastion Society.”
Fabian’s jaw clenched. He visibly stiffened, then took a deep breath.
So he hadn’t expected the question after all. That was an interesting fact in itself. Newbury watched him attempt to regain his composure.
It took a moment, but nevertheless, Newbury was impressed with the way in which Fabian calmed himself. He leaned back in his chair, the smile returning to his lips. “Ah, so you finally managed to catch up with Graves. How interesting. I wondered how long it would take.” Fabian laughed.
Newbury gave him a confused look. “What exactly has Graves been up to that should have brought him to my attention?”
Fabian frowned. “Well, it’s your sort of thing, isn’t it?” he said. “All that occult business. Secret societies, black magic, resurrection… an unhealthy pursuit of the supernatural. That sort of thing.”
“And that’s what Graves and the others are up to?” It suddenly dawned on Newbury that if what Fabian was saying were true, the case had just become a lot more serious… and potentially a lot more dangerous.
Fabian looked perplexed. “You tell me, Sir Maurice. Isn’t that why you’re here?” He seemed reluctant to elaborate all of a sudden, as if he feared he might incriminate himself if he revealed any more.
“I’m here because there’s been a murder,” Newbury stated. “And we have reason to believe there is a connection to the Bastion Society.”
Fabian nodded. “I don’t doubt it. I would imagine Graves has been connected to any number of miserable deaths over the years.” He paused, eyeing Newbury, as if weighing him up. “Have you worked out what they’re up to, Sir Maurice?”
Newbury chose to leave the question unanswered.
“I see not,” Fabian continued. “Well, allow me to enlighten you a little. The Bastion Society is more than simply another gentleman’s club. It’s an ideal. A way of life.”
“An ideal?” Newbury said.
“Yes. Its members must swear to uphold the glory of England. They believe it is their duty to preserve the English way of life. They believe the English race to be morally, intellectually, and physically superior.”
Newbury raised his eyebrows.
“Oh yes, Sir Maurice. This is the stuff they don’t publish in their charter. They’re extremists, and they are highly political. They have people in the government, and they count judges, barristers, policemen, and soldiers amongst their members.” Fabian smiled, folding his arms behind his back as he talked. “They have a chivalric code by which they all abide. It’s like something out of the Dark Ages. A medieval code of honour. They consider themselves to be the knights of the modern world, and they go forth for the glory of England. And Graves sits at the centre of it all, dreaming of Camelot.”
“And you, Dr. Fabian. You were part of all of this, too?” Newbury wondered how much of this was Fabian’s bitterness talking. He’d have to dig a little further to discover the truth about why the doctor was ejected from their ranks.
Fabian waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Perhaps. At least, I went along with their little games for a while.”
“And what was in it for you?” Newbury ventured.
Fabian grinned. “Funding,” he said, “for my… projects. This was before I was granted the honour of serving Her Majesty. Understand that the type of experimentation and invention I am involved in, the scientific endeavours in which I engage myself, are a costly business. I needed patronage, and Enoch Graves had the means to grant it to me. The Bastion Society is very free with its wealth.”
Newbury didn’t like the sound of where this was heading. “Why should a society of political idealists be funding the work of a highly regarded scientific engineer such as yourself?”
“As I said, Sir Maurice, the Bastion Society is more than just a gentleman’s club. Their rituals are ancient and arcane. They believe in the permanence of the spirit and the transient nature of life, the idea that the spirit transcends the flesh and is reincarnated in a new physical form at the point of death. A very Eastern philosophy at its core. Graves could never see the irony in that.” He chuckled. “To answer your question: I provided them with the means by which to carry out their more bizarre rituals. Particularly the ones pertaining to karmic debt.”
“A death cult?” Newbury said.
“No, not quite,” Fabian corrected. “Their belief is that each physical body is simply a vessel, a chapter in the life of a soul. They argue that an individual’s life, therefore, should not be extended beyond its natural means. That it causes an imbalance if the soul remains shackled to the body for too long. Graves, for example, truly believes he is the reincarnation of an ancient chivalric warrior.”
“I understand,” said Newbury. He could see now why Fabian’s work had put him at odds with Graves and his cronies. Fabian had saved the Queen from almost certain death by installing her in her life-giving chair. Graves would never have tolerated such an outrageous flaunting of the society’s beliefs.
“I see that you do, Sir Maurice. It is an admission of my weakness that I was only ever party to their strange beliefs when it provided me with a fully stocked laboratory. I don’t generally associate myself with cults of that sort.”
Newbury couldn’t help but wonder what sort of cults Fabian did, then, associate himself with.
“Tell me a little about this murder case, Sir Maurice. I may be able to help in some small way.”
“A notorious jewel thief, Edwin Sykes, who it later transpired was a member of the Bastion Society, was found dead in the gutter a few days ago. That, in itself, wouldn’t really be enough to concern me, but when Sykes then continued to commit felonies, it piqued my interest.”
“Go on,” Fabian said, clearly engaged.
“This morning I attended the scene of another burglary. But this time there was a body, a murder victim. And it soon became clear that the corpse was none other than Edwin Sykes. The second body was identical in almost every way to the first. Even now, we have two near-identical corpses in the police morgue.”
“Fascinating,” said Fabian. “How was he killed?”
“It seems as if he was attacked by his own mechanical automaton, a spiderlike machine that he used to force entry onto the premises.”
Fabian laughed out loud at this and sat forward in his chair. “Ha! About the size of a small dog? That’s one of mine. One of the first things I built for Graves. I was never quite sure what he wanted it for, but I tried not to ask too many questions in those days.”
“How many of them did you make, Dr. Fabian?” Newbury asked.
“Of the spider? Oh, just the one.” He paused to push his glasses up his nose once again. “Have you seen it? Was it still operational? It was a difficult machine to handle. It would have taken someone months, if not longer, to master.”
Newbury nodded. If Fabian had created only one, who had made the others? “Yes, I’ve seen it. I’ve also seen what it can do to a man. He had a hole as large as a dinner plate through his chest.”
Fabian grimaced. “Well, I can’t say I ever encountered Edwin Sykes at the clubhouse. I fear that I can shed little light on your mystery. Two bodies, you say? That’s quite extraordinary. Twin brothers, do you think?”
Newbury decided to keep his cards close to his chest. He still didn’t know how much he could trust Fabian. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Quite possibly. The birth records suggest otherwise.”
Fabian shrugged. His tone was dismissive. “You never can rely too heavily on that sort of thing.”