The Earls' Legacy
Chapter One
Dr Harry Potter was a tall man with untidy black hair, regular features and startling green eyes behind metal-framed spectacles. His PhD was in history, and his business card identified him as a curator at the Carnacki Museum.
"So what exactly is the Carnacki Museum?" Union Jack asked.
Potter shrugged. "Basically, a museum devoted to the occult, mysticism, magic and the just plain weird!" He said. "We've got mummies, amulets, magical weapons, occult ritual items, loads of books, scrolls and what-have-you. If it's weird, magical, or both, we've probably got one of it!"
"I see." Jack said. "That's why they sent you here, then. None of my people know much about the occult – modern occultism, anyway – so I suppose you're here to try and make sense of what's downstairs."
Potter nodded. "Dr Stewart told me that the late Earl was really into this stuff, and with the whole return of magic business going on, she was thinking that it was more than a hobby. So she asked me to have a look and tell you what I find out."
"OK, then." Jack said. "Spitfire here will show you the way. She'll be working with you – she reads fast and remembers – just tell her what you want her to do. Also, ask her if you need anything. Except coffee -she makes it so strong you won't be able to blink for a week. Also, because Dr Stewart probably didn't, I'll apologise for taking you away from your work!"
"No worries!" Potter told him. "It beats sorting through the Hands of Glory!"
He and Spitfire headed off. They were flirting already. Jack hoped they could actually get on with some work in between times.
"Boss?" It was the Cat, with the Hooded Man in tow. "There's been some shenanigans going on here!"
"Such as?" Jack asked.
"Well, Rob and I were checking the perimeter when we came across a path -well more of a track. I'd've said it was a bridle-path but the Earl didn't keep horses and it was covered with tyre-tracks. Big ones, like vans or SUVs. It led from a gate in the fence. Funny thing is, that if you go outside the gate onto the road at the back of the estate – it's only a B road and very quiet – you can't see the gate from it unless you're really looking. Basically, if you didn't know it was there, you'd have a bloody hard time finding it!
"Anyway, we traced it back to the old stables. Not the block they used as a garage, but the actual stables!
"We were going to follow through, but the lock on the door is too fancy for me to pick, and I didn't think you'd want us kicking the door in."
"OK." Jack said. "Rob, find Cream and ask him to join us. We'll go and have a butchers', shall we?"
XXXXX
"It should, of course, have been a red light from the very beginning." Mr Evelyn Cream remarked as he worked on the large, complex, lock. He was not wearing the heavy armour of the Black Knight, but camouflage combats and boots.
"What should?" The Cat asked.
"The absence of domestic animals." Mr Cream said. "Specifically, equines and canines. The Cardew family had held a Barony here since 1069. The late Earls' great-great grandfather was created First Earl by King Edward VII upon his coronation at the turn of the last century.
"But the Cardews were old-line aristocracy, and such families have and still do invariably maintain stables of riding horses and numbers of pet dogs. This includes the Royal Family, of course.
"The absence of any such fauna on this estate is unusual to a degree. But of course, horses, dogs and indeed cats are sensitive to magical energies. If the Earl was indeed practicing Dark Magic, it would be difficult to keep them here. They would have suffered a good deal, and not quietly!"
"Always struck me as odd that families like that stayed put under Norsefire!" Rob commented. "I mean, the Royal Family upped stakes and went to America!"
"Well, you have to realise," the Cat told him, "that the Duke of Edinburgh was a serving officer in the Second World War. He knew exactly what kind of government Norsefire was. He wanted no part of it, and the Queen followed his lead. But Sutler, apart from abolishing the House of Lords, left the aristocracy alone. Except for a couple of families who were Jewish, but they weren't old-line nobility."
"Most of the old guard had no real objection to Sutlers' policies, anyway." Cream pointed out. "Ah! There we are!"
The stable doors swung open.
"You'll have to show me how you do that, Ev." The Cat remarked. "I can do most everyday locks, but some of the newer types are beyond me!"
"Certainly, Will." Cream agreed. "Your skills are developed enough for you to only require a refresher."
It didn't look much like a stable. The floor had been concreted, and showed muddy tracks where the vehicles had come in. A couple of pump-trucks were placed against one wall, and at the back was a freight elevator.
"Whatever they were bringing in, it was big and heavy." Jack noted. "Come on!"
They got onto the elevator, which took them down a fair way into near-pitch darkness. Fortunately, Union Jacks' enhanced night vision enabled him to locate a light switch. They were in a largish room from which a wide corridor led in the direction of the house.
"OK." Rob said. "In every horror film I ever saw, secret passages are narrow, lit with lanterns or torches, have damp stone walls and a shitload of cobwebs! This is all poured concrete and fluorescent lights! More like a spy film!"
"Yeah, I never saw a horror film that had a forklift in the secret passage!" Will told him.
There was indeed a small, electrically-powered, forklift truck parked near the lift.
"We can talk about genre conventions later." Jack said. "Right now, let's see where this comes out!"
They advanced along the corridor, to the accompaniment of the Cats' rather tuneful rendering of Heigh-Ho, which everyone whistled along to. They arrived at a large metal door.
"Unless I've got completely turned round." Jack said. "Then the room on the other side is the one with the big table and all the chemical equipment. Can you deal with that lock, Evelyn?"
Cream approached the digital lock and examined the keypad.
"Certainly." He replied. "It is a high-end model, but still a standard commercial one. I believe I remember the manufacturers' override code."
He tapped in a sequence of numbers, and the doors opened smoothly, while the lights in the room beyond automatically switched on.
Union Jack had seen this room from the other side, briefly. Now he looked it over more thoroughly. There were actually three tables. One had the appearance of a large workbench, with racks at either end that supported an array of tools. Hammers, mallets, chisels, screwdrivers and prying bars, mainly. On the other side was a chemical bench, the cupboards above filled with jars and bottles holding assorted reagents, while the bench itself held a careful arrangement of flasks, crucibles and Bunsen burners. Clearly, something very specific was brewed there regularly.
The larger table was actually a ceramic tank set on a wooden frame. Some two-and-a-half metres long by a metre-and-a-half wide, about 300 millimetres deep at the edges, though the bottom sloped down to a large drain in the centre. Glancing under the table revealed a large ceramic bowl placed under the drain. Against another wall stood a glass-fronted fume cupboard, in the bottom of which was an electric heater. On a table beside this stood several empty flasks and a laptop computer connected to a printer beside which were several packs of blank label sheets.
There were two more doors. One next to the fume cupboard, which Jack knew led to the rest of the cellars. The other was tucked away in a corner near the entrance from the stables. Jack went over and tried it, it was unlocked, so he opened it cautiously, but not cautiously enough to stop the wave of stench that flowed out. It was the smell of earth, rotted wood, rotted fabric and decaying flesh.
"Christ!" The Cat gasped. "That's bloody rank, mate!"
Jack felt around to find a light-switch. A dim, low-wattage bulb was still enough to reveal a storage room of sorts. A mound of decomposing clothing lay in one corner. Most of the rest was taken up by empty coffins. Jack counted five in various states of decay, including one that was almost new. Someone had lined the lids up against the back wall. Two had the traditional brass labels, one a steel one -the other two were unlabelled. Jack moved closer and read aloud "Commander Lewis Prothero, the Right Reverend Anthony Lilliman DD." These were the brass ones. The steel one read simply "Dascombe R."
The Prothero and Lilliman caskets were high-quality, but the other three were cheap.
"Well, well, well!" Mr Cream said. "Norsefires' finest, reunited post mortem! To what end, I wonder? If their caskets and graveclothes are here, where are they?"
"No clue." Jack allowed. "But I've got a bad feeling about it! Let's go and see how the others are doing."
They found Spitfire and Potter in a room set aside, it seemed, for study and research. The scattered books and sheets of notes indicated time well spent.
"Got anything?" Jack asked.
"We think so." Potter said. "But we need some kind of context."
"Fine." Jack said. " Come on, team meeting upstairs!"
XXXXX
The team met in the dining room, around the ancient but still highly-polished oak table, sitting on the leather-upholstered dining chairs, except for the Commando, who didn't trust them to take his weight and was as comfortable standing as sitting.
"So," Jack said, "anything to report, Gawain?"
The Fae Knight, who like Cream had exchanged his armour for combat gear, nodded.
"A most strange and disturbing thing, Sir Michael." He said grimly. "It was my lot to examine the inside of the grounds while Sir Will and Sir Robert looked to the perimeter. The land here is wholesome, with good soil and a fair climate, but it wants for care. The grass is uncut, the woods not coppiced and the formal and kitchen gardens untended for some time.
"But worse than that is the lack of animals. No birds sing, no small creatures scurry. I found no spoor of fox, weasel, badger, or even rabbit, though the wind blows their scents to me from the country around. Even flying and crawling things -butterflies, bees, wasps, beetles – shun the place. Yon small lake lacks fish, frogs, newts, dragonflies and fowl. Only in and under the house is there life – rats there are in numbers, and cockroaches. And in the grounds around, only the earthworms."
"As I observed, there are no domesticated animals either." Cream added.
"This I have seen before." Rob spoke in the voice of the Hooded Man, soft and distant. "Where dark magic is used, wholesome beasts and birds flee or die. Only vermin gather and thrive."
"OK." Jack said. "Dr Potter and Jenny, what do you have?"
"Well," Spitfire said, "the Satanism is sort of a cover. Modern Satanism is basically split into three camps. There's the Church of Satan, which is non-theistic and has a philosophy based on Ayn Rand and Nietzsche – pretty right-wing. Then there's the Satanic Temple -also non-theistic but leaning toward the left and social activism. Finally, there's the Temple of Set, which is actually a religious and magical order, worshipping Satan under the name of Set. The Earls' brand of Satanism follows the Church of Satan, but it's actually just a cover for former Norsefire supporters and members to meet up. The party may be banned, but freedom of religion means that they can't ban right-wing religious groups. There's a liturgy of sorts, that members have to learn so that they can pass muster in front of journalists and so forth, but the 'services' are really just meetings."
"On the other hand," Potter said, "there has been a lot of Alchemy and Ritual Magic being studied and performed. Most of it to do with Necromancy and reviving the dead. They finally found a ritual to summon an entity – Yog-Sothoth – who told them how to make what they call 'Essential Salts' from dead bodies. Apparently with these Salts and the right incantation, you can recreate a dead person with all their personality and memories intact. There's also an incantation for dissolving them back into Salts.
"According to the notes and photos, they experimented with a number of random dead bodies of various ages, and it proved fairly successful, provided they managed to get complete remains. There's a stack of DVDs which are labelled as records of experiments, but there wasn't a player down there. Mind, it's easy to fake that sort of thing on a computer, so pinch of salt needed there.
"At any rate, the Earl seemed satisfied with the work. His last notes are about obtaining 'the necessary bodies' making the Salts and then going to a 'Sanctuary' where 'the leaders' can be revived and a strategy devised for a return to 'proper government'."
"Well, that sort of explains what we found." Jack said. "There's a discreet entrance onto the estate from a back road, and a trail to the old stables. So the coffins must have been brought here in vans and unloaded in the stables. There was a lift in there that went down to a passage which led to that weird lab in the cellars. They seem to have used a forklift to carry the coffins to the lab, where they had a workbench for opening the caskets, a tank to put the body in and a bench for mixing up whatever formula they used. It looks like the bodies were liquefied and drained off into a bowl, then put in a fume cupboard where the liquid was evaporated off. Presumably leaving these Essential Salts behind to be put in flasks and labelled. We found five coffins, three of which were labelled – Lewis Prothero, Anthony Lilliman and R – presumably Roger – Dascombe."
"Ouch!" Spitfire said. "Not good!"
"I am sorry," the Green Lantern Samara interrupted, "but those names mean nothing to me!"
"Not surprised." Potter remarked. "You obviously don't come from around here."
It was the first time he had given any indication of being aware that the tall, blue-skinned Asari in the green, black and white uniform was in any way out of the ordinary, and it made Samara chuckle.
"Indeed." She responded, "Your attitude indicates a degree of, what is the phrase? Sangfroid? Have you encountered extraterrestrials before?"
"Not that I'm aware of." Potter replied. "Though I have occasionally wondered what planets various colleagues and students came from! But given present company, your presence can't be defined as out of the ordinary!"
Union Jack shook his head. Potter was clearly no ordinary academic, but the Brigadier apparently trusted him. Well, if he needed to know more, he'd be told.
"Right." He said. "Rusty, give Samara the short version!"
The Commando turned to Samara. "Until some six or seven years ago, this country was under an authoritarian government – intolerant, racist, socially conservative and totalitarian. Prothero, Lilliman and Dascombe were key figures in the regime. Prothero, known as the 'Voice of London', was a propagandist whose nightly broadcasts put a pro-Government 'spin' on news events in populist terms. Lilliman was Bishop of London, an important figure in the Anglican Church which the ruling party supported. Roger Dascombe was Minister of Communication, also known as the 'Mouth', responsible for propaganda and information control.
"Prothero and Lilliman, along with a Doctor Delia Surridge, were assassinated by an anti-government vigilante known as Codename V. When that government fell, Dascombe was imprisoned. He died in prison of a massive stroke some three months ago."
"What about the rest of the gang?" The Cat asked.
The Commando shrugged. "Brian Etheridge, former Minister of Information, the 'Ear', remains confined in Dartmoor Maximum Security Prison. Conrad Heyer, Minister of Public Safety, or the 'Eye', escaped to America, where he lived 'off the grid' until six months ago, when he was found dead, apparently murdered - or executed if you prefer – by the vigilante known as Justice, formerly Weapon X or Wolverine. His body was cremated by the State of Washington and his ashes scattered.
"As to the rest, Dr Surridge was cremated, as per her wishes, and her ashes scattered in the Crematoriums' Garden of Remembrance. Party Leader Peter Creedy, head of the Secret Police, the 'Finger' and Arch-Chancellor David Sutler are both believed dead, on the testimony of current Prime Minster Hammond and Eric Finch, former Minister of Investigations and Arch-Chancellor. Their burial places, if any, are unknown, or at least unrecorded. Eric Finch lives quietly in Sussex."
"Am I to understand," Samara said, "that the late Earls' intention was to re-animate these individuals and somehow restore them to power?"
"I'd say so." Jack said. "But although there are still some diehards around, there are hardly enough to support a coup. People wouldn't have it!"
"Oh, they might!" Potter said. "History shows us that frightened people will stand for all kinds of things if it makes them feel safe. Norsefire rode into power off the back of the St Marys' pandemic, which they'd created. All the Earl would've had to do is create enough fear and panic to destabilise the country. People would beg for Norsefire back and put up with anything if they were scared enough. Just going public with the return of magic would do it. Or the 'Mutant Threat', or the fear of a 'Metahuman Supremacy' movement or a rogue AI."
"It would seem," Samara noted, "that conspiracy theories, and the fascination with them, is another thing most intelligent species have in common!"
"So it's not just us, then!" The Cat replied. "Not that it's a very comforting thought, mind you!"
"My examination of the late Earls' correspondence indicates an interest in magical developments." The Commando resumed. "There are – always have been – certain groups around the world who believe in and try to practise magic. Wiccan Covens, initiatory occult societies and so forth. Only now, especially here in the UK, these rituals and incantations are beginning to produce actual results. At a low level and with mostly benign or harmless outcomes, but results, nevertheless! It seems that the Earl was collecting reports of such occurrences and seeking verification of them. He was also involved in an investigation of last months' events in the Pacific, and the disturbances that preceded it."
"Looking for leverage." Cream remarked. "Religion was one of Norsefires' main planks. 'Strength through Unity, Unity through Faith', as they used to say. It goes without saying that the Churches will have a very strong reaction to the emergence of magic and magic-users. They will see it as a threat, and will swing behind anyone who proposes to ban or criminalise it. Just as they keep warning people about Mutants, Metahumans and Artificial Intelligence."
"Before Norsefire, people were ignoring religion more and more." The Cat reflected. "But since the St Marys' and everything else, lots of folk have been going back to Church. Not just here, but all across Europe. In America, they never stopped, of course."
"It may be part of the process." Spitfire said. "I know the Kree had similar issues at certain points in their history."
"Well, it's worth following up." Jack said.
"I think the other Curators and I are best suited to do that." Potter said. "We have all the knowledge and we know some people who can find these potential magicians and train them."
"Good enough." Jack allowed, "Anything more?"
"I looked over the Earls' private laptop." Samara said. "It was not a pleasant experience! His attraction to young girls was becoming an obsession. There were images and videos that were completely stomach-turning! There was also a good deal of communication between the Earl and others who shared his perversity."
"That's a matter for the police, I think." Jack said. "We'll send the laptop to them, and see if the coppers can get to these bastards before Justice does!
"Now, we have two unmarked coffins. We've got our suspicions as to who might have been in them, but we need more than that. There are only two people who might be able to help. We can't approach the PM, too many eyes and ears. That leaves Finch, so somebody has to talk to him. Volunteers, or shall I do it?"
"I've got a better idea." Potter said. "One of my fellow curators is an ex -policeman. He worked with Finch back in the day, and they know each other. He'd probably talk to Ron. People tend to."
"Sounds good." Jack said. "As for the rest of us, we need to find this Sanctuary!"
XXXXX
The Sussex Downs, or South Downs are a pleasant part of the country. Rolling chalk hills ideal for pasturing sheep, but gentle enough for arable farming. The urban encroachment of the later 20th Century had come to a hard stop when the pandemic had reduced the population by a third. The lower birthrate and careful planning controls since had preserved a largely rural lifestyle apart from the coastal towns.
Eric Finch had made his retirement home on a small estate on the very fringe of Eastbourne, a long-standing destination of retirees. His small house looked out on the Downs, but was one short bus-ride away from the shops and services of the town. A modest place, considering its occupants' place in recent history, but Finch was a childless widower with a habit of frugality and a dislike of pretension.
Ron Weasleys' ring at the doorbell produced a quiet greeting from Finch and a more enthusiastic one from a Cocker spaniel named Ben. They sat in the kitchen drinking strong tea out of big mugs and eating Bourbon biscuits.
"Well, well." Finch said. "You don't look so very different from the young Detective Constable Weasley who came to me begging not to be transferred to the Finger! You're still bigger than anyone normal ought to be! I do see an odd line here and there, though! You needn't any anything about me, I know I've got old!"
The older mans' face was more lined than it had been, and the dark hair was shot with grey. But the tension, worry and inner conflict that had so marked him in the old days was gone. He went on.
"I've still got connections. I know you made Commander. But then you packed it all in to work in a museum. What happened, Ron?"
"Stuff." Ron said. "Complicated stuff."
"Don't be coy, mate!" Finch told him. "I told you, I hear things. Vampires, Werewolves, Trolls, people doing things that we used to think were impossible. Weird cults fighting in the streets, sleepwalkers trying to murder folk.
"Right in the middle of it all, the best detective in the Met resigns and goes to work for some little museum nobody's ever heard of! I don't think so! Not you, of all people, when there's work to be done! No, it just means you found a better way to do it!" He leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. "Is it the funny people?"
Ron shook his head. "Not in the way you mean, Boss. The foundation I work for -the Carnacki Foundation -dates back to Victorian times, and it's always been about occult stuff. People get hold of old recipes that do weird things to your head. Or they find some ancient artefact and pretend it gives them some kind of power. A lot of 'em just use it to get laid and con money out of people. But some use it for politics -recruit the right people into your little Brotherhood or Order, and you get a bit of influence. We've both seen what happens when religion, or something like it, gets into politics. So the Foundation searches for these things, tries to find 'em before some nutter does, or take it off said nutter if they beat us to it. We lock it up, keep it safe and study it to see what it really is."
"Right!" Finch said. "I get it. There's more going on than I know to, but you've told me as much as you can!
"So what brings you here? As far as I know, I've got no occult treasures!"
"I know that." Ron said. "This is something else. What I'm going to tell you now is classified, but you need to know because you might be able to help.
"Somebody- I can't say who – had started a Satanist cult, but what it really was, was a front for a lot of old Norsefire people to get together and plot. Now normally the funnies would deal with it. But we've just found out that this person has dug up and stolen the corpses of Prothero, Lilliman and Dascombe. We think that this group wants to use the bodies for occult purposes, which means everything just got more complicated. But what bothers us most is that there were two unlabelled coffins there as well. Now Surridge and Heyer were both cremated, and Etheridge is in Dartmoor. That leaves Sutler and Creedy unaccounted for. You see what we're thinking?"
Finch nodded slowly. "Bodies gone, bit of plastic surgery and voice training, big fake ritual. Poof! Our old heroes are back, ready to set things right! And with all the weird stuff going on, folk would fall for it!
"So you want to know about Sutler and Creedy? OK, I'll tell you what I know.
"That Fifth of November, I'd realised that Codename V was using the old Underground system. It'd been closed since the pandemic, but he'd been restoring parts of it for his own use. It was how he got around, and where he lived. I made my way to the Westminster station, the one nearest the old Parliament building. That's where I found Evey – Prime Minster Hammond -on board a train. That's where Codename V was as well, all laid out in his black cloak and hat and Guy Fawkes mask and surrounded by Scarlet Carson roses and a fuckload of explosives. I tried to order Evey away from the controls, but she acted like she knew I wouldn't shoot. She just smiled, pushed the lever and stepped off the train as it moved away. Evey said that Codename V had gone into a maintenance tunnel and that she'd heard gunfire, lots of it. Then V came out, obviously dying. That's all she could or would tell me. Then we went back upstairs and outside, and that music was playing, and then Parliament blew up and she told me "He was all of us" and we went our separate ways."
"I know what happened next." Ron said. "The Army commanders outside Parliament had ordered their men to stand down, then to protect the civilians from the Fingermen. Everybody was either sitting tight or running around like headless chickens. You got back to the office at the same time the Chiefs of Staff arrived there. They'd got no sense out of Etheridge and Dascombe, nobody could find Creedy or Sutler and Heyer had done a runner. You were the last senior Minister left and they told you that if you didn't take charge, they'd have to declare martial law, which they didn't want to do. So you agreed, said that Creedy and Sutler were dead, ordered me to arrest Etheridge and Dascombe and told the rest of us and the Army to round up the Fingermen. They called you Arch-Chancellor, which you hated and you only stayed as long as it took to set up an election."
"Right." Finch agreed. "What you don't know is that I went back down there with a couple of chaps – Palfrey and Callan, who could both keep their mouths shut - the next day. We went into the maintenance tunnel and found a massacre!
"Sutler was there, he'd been shot in the forehead, he had a Scarlet Carson rose in his lapel. Creedy had been strangled. Then there were a dozen blokes in uniform, with rifles, all dead from knife wounds!"
"Bloody Hell!" Ron said.
"Oh, it gets better!" Finch told him. "There were bullet marks and cartridge cases all over the shop! All the armed men had died while trying to reload their rifles. Creedys' automatic was empty and there was another empty clip on the floor near him. There was a blood trail leading from the middle of the area to where Creedy was, and a cuirass – chest and back armour – on the floor nearby. There were dozens of dents in the armour and one hole that had blood all around it.
"Now I knew that Creedy had been building a paramilitary unit like Himmler did with the SS, to support the Fingermen. The men were wearing his uniforms. Sutlers' hands were tied with those plastic cuffs the Fingermen used, and he'd had one of their bags on his head, I think. There was one on the ground near him, anyway.
"As best I could tell with no forensics, Creedy must have shot Sutler – he'd been planning to replace him anyway – then there seems to have been a bit of brawl. Codename V, either on his own or with help, managed to kill all Creedys' thugs and Creedy himself, but was fatally wounded. He must have dragged himself back to the platform and Evey.
"Well, we decided that the best thing was to get rid of the bodies, but we needed to know where Creedy and Sutler were, just in case. Curfew was still on, but I'd ordered the video surveillance shut down in most places. So we got hold of a couple of coffins and hired a van. Then after curfew we got the bodies out and took them away.
"We took them where we thought nobody would find them. We buried them in the grounds of St Marys' School!"
"Ground Zero for the pandemic!" Ron said. "Clever! Nobody goes there, not even drunks or tramps. It's still got the reinforced walls and metal gates Norsefire put there. Even the Memorial is half a mile away!"
"The only people who ever knew were me, Evey Hammond -I had to tell her, she deserved to know- Palfrey and Callan." Finch revealed. "Palfrey's dead but Callan still works for the funny people. It was Callan who went back the next night with explosives and collapsed the maintenance tunnel over Creedys' men.
"Does that help?"
"It gives us places to look." Ron said. "Thanks, Boss."
"Call me Eric, I'm not your boss anymore!" Finch declared. "Got time for another cuppa?"
Ron grinned. "Do you need to ask?"