Feb. 19, 1887
Cwtch, Wales
I gently rested my gloved hand in the rough paw proffered me as I descended the steps of the little black coach onto the deeply rutted earth of the Colliery. "Bore da, constable," I said, nodding toward the large, bearded man who had guided me down the steps.
"Bore da, Miss Moore," he answered with a slight touch to the brim of his bowler hat. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Inspector Brady speaks highly of you. How was your journey?"
"As well as might be expected for this time of year. How does the younger Mr. Brady fare?" The constable's countenance fell. I knew, without another word from the rotund man what was meant - my inference was quickly confirmed.
"Not well, I'm afraid."
"No, I suppose given the circumstances he wouldn't be." My mind readily returned to the memory of the pale, skeletal young man with the flaming red and nervous mein that manifested in a constant twitching of his head as though afraid at any moment something might spring from thin air to bring havoc upon him. I had come to be acquainted with only a few months past through the mechanations of our mutual friend, Mr. Bond. "I shall have to call on Inspector Brady and thank him for the recommendation." I unhooked my umbrella from my arm and pointed it forward, I suppose we should be getting to the mine before we waste anymore daylight."
"Very good," the aging lawman replied. "If you'll just follow me. It's only just by that rise."
"In the report I received I had been given to know there were six killed in the explosion?" I inquired as we walked down the dusty path toward the large stone building that served temporary duty as both staging place and morgue.
"I'm sorry to say the number has increased since we wrote you. The total is now forty dead," the constable answered, his eyes cast toward the ground. We were fortunate though. Had it occurred at any time other than shift change we might've lost hundreds."
"Yes, quite fortunate indeed. That seems a rather strange time for an explosion," I probed. "Will I be able to see the site of the explosion?"
"It'd be a rather big risk. The winding gear was badly damaged by the blast. I don't think it'd be safe for a lady."
"I'll be the determiner of that," came my haughty retort. When I had first begun my career as a spy in earnest I had attempted to take such talk as mere chivalrous concern; but after so many years it quite irritated me, more often causing needless delays in my investigations. "But first let's have a look at the bodies, shall we?" The constable conveyed me through the main door, his look matching perfectly my own annoyance.
Inside the building I was greeted by the grisly sight of forty men, their bodies blackened and disfigured from the explosion, lying on white sheets in lines across the floor. I pulled on a pair of kid gloves and began my inspection. "Have all the men been identified?" I asked, squatting beside the corpse of what must have once been a rather young man, a child really.
"Most of them," answered the Constable, "but for a few closest to the blast. We only just got them out a few hours ago. They're over in that corner." He gestured with his finger to a few sets of badly charred remains, "The poor souls."
"Poor indeed," I murmured, standing up. I strolled over to the corner where the final men lay. The final corpse was less a man and more a skull with an assemblage of parts conjectured to have belonged to him lying beneath it. At a glance I knew at least one of these parts to be incorrectly attributed, but it was the skull, so different in form from its brethren, which most arrested my attention. It was a heavy, square thing with thick, high cheekbones that almost seemed to jut out from below the eye sockets. The jawbones were wide and set at almost right angles from the short, wide, square chin. I pulled a wooden probe from my bag kneeling down next to the skull, prodding it gently with a wooden probe. "Curious," I said to know one but myself as I set the probe so that it sat on the tip of the nasal bone, forming almost a straight line with the bulbs of the forehead. I rested the probe along the line that ran from the forehead to the back of the skull, noting the sharp diagonal line it formed, "Curious indeed." I stood, "Constable, where there any Germans employed by the colliery?"
"Germans?" the confounded man repeated, "none that I am aware of!"
"Might you please make an inquiry to the foreman for me regarding the subject?" I asked.
"As you wish, Miss Moore." It was clear his irritation had not yet wholly subsided, but this was neither here nor there so long as he proved a capable assistant, as I was certain he would for he should wish to bring an end to this case as quickly as possible. Cwtch had little to recommend itself to the rest of the world beyond the colliery - an extended closure of the mine would bring economic disaster to the town such that it might not be able to recover.
I shifted, gaining a better vantage of the corpse. Noticing something strange on one of the hands - the left which I believed original to the man, as opposed to the right which was visibly more gracile and at least an inch shorter - I took my probe and gently pried the ragged remains of the fingers open. The backs of the digits had been largely destroyed, two, including the thumb, were wholly absent but the inner tips of the remaining three were tinted a deep crimson, made pale from the dust that coated the body. I stood and very suddenly, as though very suddenly assaulted by an invisible force, assumed the posture of one using their arms to shield their face. Without moving my arms I looked at how my hands had instinctually positioned themselves. The sides of both hands were pointed outward, leading with the little finger the others following behind in a neat row with the thumb protectively aligned beside the inward facing side. This position would not explain the injuries I was seeing. If he had shielded his face in this manner the outer side of the hand should show the worst of the damage with the palms and backs similarly burned yet it was the backs which appeared to have borne the brunt of the blast. The sides of the fingers should be in the best condition, not the pads.
I turned my palms inward to replicate the damage to the backs... no that was no good either. The fingers and thumb curled inward like a fist. I repeated the motion more quickly just to be certain only to yield the same results. The pads would have been protected, but so would the backs of the upper two joints on each finger. However, such was not the case. And to further the trouble was the issue of the thumb which, in both positions, was largely protected by the remainder of the hand. It would figure the mind would instinctively protect that joint which separated us from the lower animals at the sacrifice of all other digits. I glanced at the orphan arm for confirmation of my theory and found it to be just as I conjectured. The little finger and corresponding side had bourne the brunt of the blast and had thus ceased to exist. The knuckles and heel of the hand had taken the remainder, the former showing the white of bone while the latter had lost a good portion of flesh. The thumb, however, but for the very right edge of the tip, was wholly preserved. I lowered my hands to my sides and ever so slowly turned my hands, fingers spread wide, so that the backs faced the imaginary inferno. He had not been caught off guard by the blast - the position was far too unnatural. In my mind I saw the man in my place, standing exultant, awaiting that which he had created to flow over him.
I turned to see the Constable regarding my weird reverie with a rather singular expression. "Well?" I asked, "What did the foreman have to say?"
The lawman recalled himself, "Joe said he's never even met a German, let alone hired one. What's all this talk of Germans about anyhow?"
"Merely a hunch, Mr. Davies. But, until I am certain, if anyone were to ask, please tell them only thirty-nine men were lost in the explosion," I said, removing my gloves and placing them back into my bag. "I believe it is time I saw the place where the explosion took place."
"Miss Moore, I really must object-"
"Your objection is noted, Constable. But if I am to offer any tangible assistance on this case I must be allowed to go into the mine. I would prefer to think you did not request the assistance of the secret service to waste our time."
"No, ma'am. I do apologize." The mention of his request to the secret service had the immediate effect of rendering Constable Davies quite contrite.
"It is no matter. Now please do take me to the mine, if you would Mr. Davies." I turned to another officer who was watching the scene, "And for Heaven's sake, please put the right arm with the third corpse from the left where it belongs!"
As we picked our way through the desolated mine I found myself dearly wishing I had heeded the Constable's suggestion. Progress was slow and frequently impeded by fallen rock and destroyed track. Careful to keep my lantern before me I hoisted myself over a beam that diagonally bisected the entryway into the lower tunnels.
"We found the final bodies down that tunnel," Constable Davies called out from behind me, his voice uneven as he attempted to negotiate the complicated terrain. "It gets a bit tight further down!"
He was in no way exaggerating the situation, but for a small hole where the beams had fallen in such a way as to from something of a tent the entire passageway was blocked. The Constable appeared by my side, "Huh! It appears there's been some subsidence since last night. I'm sorry Miss, but it appears we'll not be able to see the site of the blast until they are able to clear this mess out."
"And when do you suppose that would be?"
"A week at most. They'll want to shore up the support beams first, or else the whole tunnel's liable to collapse on them. No sense digging your own grave."
"A week! I do apologize sir, but I would prefer not to wait so long. Important evidence might be destroyed or lost in that time." I ran the lantern across the hole formed by the beams. It was wider than is was tall by almost a foot. I poked my arm, lantern dangling, through the opening and peered inside. The tunnel on the other side of the hole appeared to be quite clear. I put my head through to my shoulders and looked about the tunnel. I could hear the drip of water echoing from somewhere within. From down deep within rocks clattered to the floor and rolled down an invisible path. I shifted somewhat, my shoulders scraping against the sides of the hole. I backed out, trailed by my lantern. "If you would, please hold this." I said, thrusting the lantern into the confounded man's beefy hands. He took it, staring in confusion as I once more approached the hole, sticking both my hands through this time.
"Miss Moore, what are you doing?" Davies finally mustered.
I turned my head back toward him, "The hole may not be large enough for you, but I believe I can fit through it."
"But if anything happens to you it will be a week before any help might be able to get through!"
"I am well aware of the dangers, Mr. Davies. Now, if you will excuse me." I squirmed my way through the tight space, catching myself in a most ingracious manner by my hands and using them to walk myself out, upside down, until finally my feet had been drug out. As awkward as Mr. Davies view must have been, I was eternally glad he was on the other side of the wall and not present to witness my skirt falling over my head, causing me to lose my bearings and topple over.
"Miss Moore, are you alright?" the concerned voice called from the beam of light that had previously been the hole.
"All is well Mr. Davies," I called back, righting myself. By habit I straightened my dress, finger catching a band of lace, torn loose by my careless treatment. "The only harm done was to my dress and that will be easily mended. Please pass me the lantern, if you would." The lantern and large hand holding it passed through the diminutive portal casting the tunnel in a pool of pale light. I took it and held it out to examine the tunnel which proved to be as clear as I could have realistically hoped, though, at least passable. "Thank you Mr. Davies. I shouldn't be long." I said hopefully, though I knew the herculean task before me would render that promise unforgivably false.
I picked my way through what had formerly been tunnels, twice having to force myself through spaces of prohibitive size and questionable integrity. A drip of water splashed onto my head, I looked up just in time for another drop to land squarely between my eyes. Lifting my lantern I observed a crack in the bedrock above me - a discouraging sign to say the very least. There was little chance of the crack sealing itself. If the ceiling did not give way on its own, it would be rendered inaccessible by flooding. Behind I heard the sound of streams of dust and rock cascading from the ceiling. I quickened my pace for I harbored no special desire to be trapped in this tunnel for a week (and that if I were lucky!). I felt a few pebbles fall from above onto the top of my head. I sidestepped as a shower of rock debris rained down where I had just stood. Taking another step I felt a strange, soft object below my foot. It slid from beneath my heel, or I from it, causing me to stagger into the wall. Vengefully, I turned my lantern on the offending object, only to find it was not a rock but rather the German's missing arm. I jumped back in surprise... landing directly on the loose stone that had only a moment ago assaulted me.
I slid down next to the limb with a loud acclamation of surprise, yet somehow I had managed to hold my lantern aloft before me through the fall. Now it lit the wall opposite me, casting an eerie glow on the menacing face of a sheep staring directly at me. I quickly scooted back, my hand landing on the arm causing me to once more cry out in shock as I yanked my hand from the grotesque object. Standing up, I lifted my lantern to the wall where I had seen the image of the creature. Sure enough it was a sheep, expertly drawn in red in the center of a giant circle bisected strangely by three lines in the shape of, what appeared to be to my eyes, a giant letter "A". Above the low horizontal bar of the "A" on the outer sides of the triangle which housed the sheep's head where the letters "K" and "M" on the right and left, respectively. Above the circle was written, in bold capitalized letters: ECCE SANGUINEM AGNI.