The Light Beneath the Cauldron Page 12
Chapter 37
He was strong enough to move about now and he wasted no time in setting off on his mission. The darkness of night covered him as he left Mullins’ house and slipped along Dog and Duck Yard towards the river. Muc had been angry many times in the past, and had frequently gone looking for enemies but this was the first time he ever had murder on his mind. All going well this evening, both Edwards and Olocher would be dead and he would be back home in bed to complete his recovery without having to worry about retaliation.
Shrouded, hunched over to conceal his size and with a false limp to hide his usual gait Lord Muc slipped across the Liffey to the north side of the city. He moved through the alleys and quiet streets taking a circuitous route to Edwards’ house. Muc didn’t know the streets so well over here and once he was so unsure where he was, he had to double back on himself to get his bearings again. This had been the stomping ground of his old enemies the Ormonde Boys when they still existed and Muc hadn’t spent much time here save when he was fighting and not taking in the surroundings.
Forty minutes after leaving Mullins’ house Muc stood across the road from the house of his prey. The place was well lit and through the windows, he could see servants moving around going about their work. He saw neither Edwards nor Olocher however and decided to go around to the back to have a look through those windows.
It was hard to see from the back as the alley was narrower than the street to the front. There were candles lighting a lot of the rooms at the back but Muc had to climb up on the wall of the property to the rear to be able to see into any of them. He had to hope that no one was watching him as he was up there.
Just as he was about to give up and attempt to enter the house he caught sight of Olocher at a window on the second floor. Muc crouched down hoping to blend into the darkness but Olocher wasn’t looking his way, didn’t seem to be looking outside at all despite facing the window. As Muc watched, he saw the young man whom he’d trained in the art of fighting not all that long ago pull a cape over his shoulders.
“Going out for some more bad deeds?” Muc muttered, happy with this fortuitous turn of events. He wondered a moment if Olocher would leave by the front door or this back servant entrance where he was now. He was sure to come out this way, he decided. Olocher didn’t want to be seen any more than Muc did. Slipping down silently from the wall, Muc moved away towards the end of the alley. He could have of course surprised Olocher as he came out of the house and killed him there, but Muc was curious by nature and he felt Olocher would be up to something if he was coming out this late. Muc intended to follow him and find out what it was. Perhaps he would get to kill Olocher in the guise of a hero saving someone else—that would be an ideal outcome.
It wasn’t long before Olocher skulked out into the night and headed for the south side. Muc followed at a distance and tried to guess where he might be going. There was no telling of course, not without knowing Olocher’s design but Muc liked to keep his mind active all the same when he was in pursuit like this.
Muc watched from doorways and laneway corners as Olocher moved slowly through the city. He recognised the younger man was also taking a longer route than necessary to get where he was going but still Muc did not know where that was.
After what seemed like an hour, Olocher dipped into a tavern and Muc crept close to see what was happening inside. He covered himself up afresh not wanting anyone to see who he was and peered in through the ajar door.
Olocher was at the bar alone leaning on one elbow and taking up a glass of ale. He didn’t look to have a care in the world. The tavern was not busy but there were people dotted about inside. Muc knew this place and that this door was the only way in or out so he prepared to move back across the road and wait in the shadows for Olocher to come out.
Just as he was about to walk away, however, he heard his own name being mentioned.
“Lord Muc would love the place,” a man said, Muc did not recognise the voice.
“How so?” someone asked.
“They have gangs growing up all over the city, there's one every few streets and nonstop with the fighting.”
“What are they fighting about?”
“Turf I suppose,” the first man answered.
“Do they have turf over there?” a third man asked.
“Not turf for the fire you dope, turf as in territory!” the second man said and they all three laughed
“It sounds rough,” the second man said when they stopped laughing.
“By all accounts it is,” the first said, “That’s why I said Lord Muc would love it.”
“Can you imagine Muc leaving here though and going all the way to America?”
“No, but I’d say if he did he wouldn't be long making a name for himself in New York.”
“New York,” Muc said as he stepped away from the doorway. He’d been enraptured by what the men were saying and he’d waited to hear where they’d been talking about. Gangs everywhere, fighting all the time—it sounded like a paradise to him. Perhaps when all the craziness that was going on here and now settled down Muc would think about it. What was there keeping him here in Dublin, or even Ireland for that matter? Nothing he could think off anyway. He leaned back in the shadow of the buildings and waited for Olocher to finish up inside. This talk of gangs had roused Muc and he didn’t think he was going to be following Olocher any more once he emerged into the street.
Chapter 38
The scene of Aldershot’s murder was bloody indeed. The man’s body sat slumped in an armchair by the fire. His throat bore a gaping crevice and blood covered him, the chair and the fireplace and mirror in front of it. The killer must have been covered in blood too when he left, unless he struck from behind. James looked at the former Alderman and couldn’t help thinking Aldershot would go down in history as the shortest serving Alderman in the Empire.
“Has anything been taken from the room?” James asked the guard.
“No, Sir. This is as it was found.”
James walked slowly around the room, trying to get a look at everything in one go before he delved into any one aspect. It looked like the study of any well to do man in the city. Bookshelves, a desk, two armchairs by the fire and a drinks cabinet. The rug on the floor was thick and James bent over to look at it more closely. It had been well trampled by how ever many people had come to see the body so far but he wouldn’t expect to get any real evidence from footsteps on it in any case.
“The murder weapon is not here?” James asked; he knew it would not be.
“No, Sir.”
Now James went and looked at Aldershot himself. It was not the most grisly visage he’d ever seen but something about the hollow within the crevice made James feel a little nauseous. He stood and looked at the area around the armchair and then at the wall. The blood spray suggested Aldershot had been standing when his throat was first cut. He either fell back into the chair when his legs no longer had the strength to hold him, or else he’d been pushed back as he tottered.
Walking to the desk, he looked at the papers strewn about. He would have to ask one of the servants would the desk generally be in such disarray or if this was a sign of struggle perhaps. The papers were mostly familiar to James, all to do with Gaspard and the recent murderous spree he’d been on.
“At least he was looking into the case,” James said to himself. The odd thought that he was the owner of all these papers once again struck him. Although what use they would be, he wasn’t sure. Alderman James did not believe that Gaspard was responsible for any crimes since his escape, not in Ireland at least. Especially not this one.
If this was the man James was now looking for there should be something playful here but it didn’t look like there was. Perhaps this man, whom James had not warmed to, simply had an enemy who had been pushed too far. Anyone could have killed Aldershot; it may have had nothing to do with his role investigating cases or as the Alderman. James put his hands on his hips and took in the full room again.
“Did anyone in the house hear anything?” he asked the guard.
“No, Sir, not that we have been able to establish.”
“And no guest was here last night?”
“None, Sir.”
“Very curious,” James said more to himself this time. The guard did not respond to this.
A memory of how the ‘Shadow of the Dolocher’ used to hide clues inside some of his victims came to James with the image of the serrated throat of Aldershot. Was there something in there? As much as it disgusted him, James went back to the body and looked at the neck. It was while he was looking for a reason not to put his hand inside that wound that he noticed the tilt of Aldershot's hips.
“There’s something underneath him,” he said and the guard came over to see. “Lift him on this side,” James said and the guard leaned Aldershot to one side so James could take out what was under him.
It was a book and James looked at the title. The King James Bible. A sheet of paper was folded in the pages and James took note of the page it was held in before unfolding the sheet to see what was on it.
The words written there chilled him to the bone. There was one sentence in a neat hand and it read:
The game is back on Alderman James.
James felt weak at the knees and he held the back of the armchair for support. He saw the writing and knew at once this was the same hand that had written him those letters claiming to be the Dolocher. That one sentence confirmed everything Spencer had been saying at the end—he was innocent after all. How terrible for him to die with this hanging over his head.
He looked at the guard who also had a mask of shock on his face.
“They knew you’d be Alderman again, Sir, and that you would come here and find this!” he said.
“Yes,” James nodded, “This is a sick man who likes to play games. He’d be dancing with glee if he could see the two of us right now.” Both men instinctively looked to the window when he said this but the curtains were closed to the outside world.
James looked down at the Bible. Perhaps this was some joke in itself as Spencer had said his tormentor must have been in the Hellfire Club. He looked at the pages the paper had separated. It was from the book of Ruth but no verse made any sense to James outside of their actual meanings. He knew he would spend the night once he left here pouring over those verses and he wondered was this too all part of the madman’s design. Would it be pointless in the end? Was it going to take catching this man in the act to bring him down?
Chapter 39
Muc was still fantasizing about street fighting when Olocher stepped back out into the road after a couple of ales inside the tavern. The young man glanced up and down the street, not seeing Muc in his hiding place, and then began to walk briskly down the road. He was not going home, that was clear by the direction he took, but Muc no longer cared about that or what Olocher might be up to. The former gang leader had violence on his mind and it clouded all other considerations now. All he saw in Olocher just then was the man who tried to kill him. Perhaps not the man whose idea it was, but almost certainly the man who had carried out the poisoning. Muc spat with disgust at the thought; he had not taught him such skulduggery as poisoning a man's drink. Cowardice of the highest order.
Though he kept his distance still as he followed Olocher, that gap between them was less now. He was almost willing his former student to turn around and confront him. That would be the ideal. It would look better if he was not the one who started the fight, at least to any witnesses. Olocher slipped into a narrow alley and Muc felt a rush of blood as he quickened his pace to catch up. This reason Olocher had come out may be up that alley. There was something else Muc knew about this particular alley—it was a dead end. He had his prey cornered like a rat!
Muc got to the entrance and looked down to see Olocher standing in the middle of the larger open square area at the far end where the alley ended against the stone walls of some surrounding buildings. He was standing still looking down at the ground. Though it was possible Muc was in his peripheral vision Olocher made no movement to indicate he knew anyone was near him. Muc began to walk softly towards him.
“This is where it all started,” Olocher said and the sound of his voice surprised Muc and stopped him in his tracks.
“Where what began?” he asked. Olocher looked at him, it was the first time they’d seen each other face to face since the younger man left Muc’s stables.
“This is where my father committed his first murder—first two murders I should say,” Olocher said. Muc looked around and nodded.
“The Carey Brother’s met a grim end here alright,” he said.
“A deserved end,” Olocher said.
“What about my end,” Muc said, “Was that supposed to be deserved?”
“I don’t think heaven’s gates are open to you, Muc,” Olocher said grinning maliciously.
“Closed gates have never stopped me getting to where I want to be,” Muc said and he started towards Olocher. Talking had never been his strong suit when a fight was imminent. Olocher took a step back and faced Muc full on. A flicker of light alerted Muc to the knife in his hand.
“You don’t want to do this the old fashioned way?” he asked. Olocher shook his head,
“You have the heft and height advantage that way,” he answered.
“Fair enough,” Muc said, “But you know stabbing me will only make any blows that hit you harder than would otherwise be the case.”
“I’ll just have to make sure nothing lands between my cuttings then,” Olocher said.
Despite the confident words, Muc could tell he was very nervous and not at all sure of himself against Muc.
“You’re lucky I haven’t fully recovered from the poison yet,” he said hoping to add some false hope to Olocher. He lunged forward and clipped Olocher’s shoulder just as he dipped away.
They circled loosely in the open area, Muc careful not to give Olocher an escape route. Olocher for his part was watching Muc intently, swivelling the blade in his hand as he looked for an opening.
“You’re getting too old for this kind of life,” Olocher said to him.
“Well, you’re doing your best to make sure I don’t get any older.” Muc lunged again this time connecting hard into Olocher’s chest. The younger man was knocked back and winded but not before slicing up and cutting into the flesh on the underside of Muc’s forearm as he was struck. Muc looked at the blood oozing out, shook it off and they circled again.
Thinking it best not to wait until he bled too much Muc surged forward again, Olocher stabbed at him and the blade entered his chest but only a glance and came out with some ripped flesh attached to it. Muc grabbed hold of Olocher’ shirtfront as the knife fell and cluttered noisily on the ground. Using the momentum, he slammed Olocher hard into the wall and there was a creaking noise from above, louder than the pained grunt of Olocher. Muc didn’t dare look up to see what it was lest this sneaky foe unsheathe another knife, which Muc was sure he’d have on him somewhere. He spun and threw Olocher twisting over himself and falling heavily to the ground.
Muc stood there a moment and rubbed at the fresh wound on his chest—that would be another new scar soon enough. It stung but Muc knew the real pain of it would come the next day.
“What’s this all about anyway?” he asked Olocher, “Has Edwards convinced you that you are your father or something?” Olocher pulled himself up on his side; he looked to be in pain all over.
“I’m nothing like him,” Olocher said.
“That’s not what the people in Dublin will think when they find out who you are,” Muc said.
“I don’t give a damn what those lowlife people think!” Olocher said with a sardonic smile.
“Not even Mullins?” Muc asked. He was hoping this would sting Ol
ocher’s heart but he never got a chance to see the young man’s reaction. As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, piles of timber came crashing down on top of him. Muc fell to the ground under the weight of it all, and for a few moments he didn’t know what was happening or where he was.
When his sense finally came back to him and he pulled himself from the rubble he saw that some wooden overhanging structure built on the first floor of one of the buildings had collapsed down on top of him. Luckily for him the small room had been empty and it was only the flooring and timber structure that landed on him.
Olocher was gone, and with that Muc felt, his last good chance to get revenge. They knew he was alive now, and they knew he was coming for them. The element of surprise was gone.
Chapter 40
Some days had passed and Mary felt it best she go back to working the stall. She couldn’t expect people to keep looking after it for her and she needed the money.
“Do you want me to help you?” Kate asked.
“I’d love you to if you don’t mind.”
“I just hope no one else acts like that idiot did the other day.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” Mary said.
“Not after seeing you in action they won’t!” Kate said and they both laughed.
They walked to the market, stopping in on Tim’s workshop on the way to tell him what they were doing. The whole time they were there as Kate and Tim talked Mary could feel young Larry’s eyes on her. He was pretending to work but he was too inexperienced with women to know how obvious he was being. Mary didn’t need anymore complications in her life so she didn’t look his way—that would be too much of an encouragement for someone like him.
At the stall, the other vendors greeted her warmly just as they had the last time she came, but Mary played everything down this time and just got down to work. Kate worked alongside her and Mary could see the trepidation in her friend every time a customer came over. Thankfully, no one had said anything but Mary felt this was not the job for Kate if she was so fearful of her past coming up. She was happy to have her with her all the same and trade was brisk.