Even wounded the Baylok outdistanced us in the heavy fog.
And weighed down as we were, with our vests of chain-mail beneath our coats, we were not as fleet of foot as we might otherwise have been.
Bull kept a close eye on his compass, while I searched the cobblestones for traces of the thick, black fluid, that appeared to be the substance the creature used for blood.
“That spear of yours certainly did some damage,” Bull observed.
“Let’s hope it does some more,” I said between heavy breaths.
We jogged along another alley. I spied gouts of the black fluid every ten paces or so.
“This way,” Bull directed, following the pointing arrow of his weird compass.
We turned a corner.
A taloned hand reached out of the fog before us and took hold of Bull Sackett’s arm, dragging him forward.
I heard the American grunt. Instead of jerking backwards, as one might expect, he threw himself toward the sinister form that had hold of him. The unexpected ploy took the Baylok off balance and it was forced backwards. Again I saw that wickedly sharp Bowie knife rise and fall. Bull slashed the knife backhanded, a blow which surely would have come close to decapitating the creature…except once again it slithered aside with amazing rapidity. The face had changed since last I saw it. Now there was a snout, beady red eyes, the rough, dark clothes seemed more akin to bristles or fur. The arms and legs were thin, and seemed to bend in the wrong direction at elbow and knee.
I moved to the side, hoping to use my assegai once more.
In the blink of an eye the Baylok released its grip on Bull, and turned and dashed back into the fog.
I moved to follow but Bull reached out and grasped my arm.
“It knows we’re hunting it now Allan. I reckon it knows we can track it somehow. Even if we lose the blood trail. We’ve got to be more cautious. The only reason we’re still breathing is because of the armour and these leather throat protectors.”
He pulled the collar of his coat aside and I saw the deep gouges in his own leather neck guard. I nodded.
Suddenly, somewhere in the fog behind us, we heard the sound of running footsteps.
“I heard something down ‘ere,” a voice exclaimed. “C’mon lads, keep up blast ye.”
“Police,” I guessed.
Bull agreed. “Here,” he said. “Over the wall.”
He ran forward a few steps and jumped upwards to grasp the top of a stone wall. I put my hands beneath his feet and hoisted him higher. Seeing him swing himself astride the wall, I took a few steps to the rear and then ran forward and jumped up to grab the top myself. I got an elbow over the wall, Bull pulling me to assist, then swung a leg over. I was gasping for breath. The weight of our chain-mail armour and the other accoutrements we were carrying, was taking its toll. The running footsteps were almost on us now. Silently the pair of us slid down on the opposite side of the wall. We looked around ourselves and discovered we were in some sort of courtyard. It was unlit and in the darkness and the swirling fog we were unable to make much out. I spied a door some ten feet away. Motioning to it I started in that direction. We could hear some men, talking and milling about, on the other side of the wall we had just climbed over.
“Swear I saw something ‘ere a moment ago?” said a voice. “Jenkin’s you’re a young lad. Have a shufti over the top of that wall there. See if anyone’s on ‘tother side.”
I had reached the door and found to my surprise that it was not locked. I merely turned the handle and it opened. With my rifle levelled before me I stepped inside. Bull followed me, just as a figure appeared atop the wall we had recently vacated. I quickly pushed the door too, and closed it as quietly as I could. I found a sliding bolt on my side and slid it into position. We waited, in almost complete darkness. Outside we heard footsteps approach the door and the handle rattled. Then the footsteps moved off again.
“Nothing on this side, Sarge. A small yard, found a door into a warehouse or something, but it’s all locked up.”
“Righto Jenkin’s get yer arse back over ‘ere then. We’ll have a wander down the alley and come out in Petty Lane. I saw Inspector Abberline down there in a Hansen a little while ago. Dunno what he’s doing, but he’s got a pretty with him. Bit of a looker she is.”
“Maybe it’s his wife?” suggested a voice.
“He should be so bleeding lucky,” said the first. “The pretty’s young enough to be his daughter. I dunno who she is, but it ain’t his bleeding wife, that’s for sure.”
The voices faded away, still discussing Fred and his unlikely allegiance with Susan.
At my side the American chuckled. “They probably think Susan is Fred’s floozy. I’m right sure that’ll get her all fired up.”
I chuckled myself. “She is a bit of a wildcat isn’t she?”
“Make a man a good wife, would Susie,” Bull expounded. “Not for myself you understand, me being hitched to Esmeralda and all.”
“For me?” I inquired. “Ah, perhaps not Bull. There’s a few things I want to do and see before I think about getting…what was it...hitched?”
Another soft chuckle.
“Might strike a match? See where we’re at?” my friend suggested.
“Good idea. I can’t see anything in here.”
I stepped forwards and away from Bull, so that I would not be blinded by the match being lit in front of my eyes. I heard him scrape one alight and a moment later a dull glow surrounded me.
We seemed to have ended up in a small warehouse. Currently unused, judging by the rubbish scattered about on the floor and the layer of dust coating some old shelves next to me. I spied a lantern on one of the shelves and picked it up. Shaking it I heard a faint slosh of liquid from within. The first match went out. Bull scraped another one into life. I opened the glass cover and he touched his small flame to it. Instantly a brighter light flared up and I replaced the glass cover, turning the copper screw slightly to lower the flame a little.
I held the oil lantern up and got a better idea of our surroundings.
Bull was checking his directional compass. “Baylok’s stopped moving. If we go that way,” he pointed, “we should be heading on the right track.”
“Hopefully there’s another door to get out of over there,” I said. I moved forwards, holding the lantern before me with my left hand. My right still held the rifle at waist height.
We moved across the dusty floor. I jerked a bit when I walked through some cobwebs. Upon reaching the opposite side of the small warehouse, I discovered there was no door to exit from. I mentioned this to Bull.
“Don’t matter none,” he replied. “We’ve gone too far. Baylok’s behind us again.”
I spun around and found Bull already facing that direction. He frowned and looked at his compass. Took a few steps back the way we had already walked. Stopped, turned around and stepped back toward me.
“Hmmm.”
“What?”
“Near as I can figure, the Baylok should be standing right in front of us.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A chill swept over me. We could both plainly see, by the light of the oil lantern, that nothing stood before us.
“Above us!” I cried out, and threw myself backwards, rifle aimed at the rafters overhead.
Sackett threw himself to the side, his shotgun following the same direction my own barrel was pointed in.
But in the bright glow of the lantern we could see that the rafters above us held no sinister form. I waved the lantern around, up above my head.
Nothing.
Silently I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Right odd this,” said Bull. “I walk this way and the compass points back over there. I walk over there and it points back over here.”
“May I?” I asked.
“Be my guest.” He passed me the small device.
I likewise walked forwards, checked the arrow, then walked backwards. The arrow moved from one side of its dial to the other, as I paced forwards or backwards. Strange indeed.
I looked down at my footprints, visible on the surface of the dust laden floor. I noticed something.
“See here,” I crouched down. “A drainage hole in the floor.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I believe we must be standing above a sewer, or a drainage tunnel. Built underneath this building. If I’m correct…the Baylok is right below us. I mean
right below us!”
“You reckon he can hear what we’re saying?”
I shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Does the thing even understand English?”
A shrug from the American. “Can’t say as I’ve ever heard it speak rightly. Snarls and growls and howls a bit. Hisses some, now and again.”
“I’ll take that as an, ‘I don’t know’ then,” I said.
He smiled grimly as I handed him back his other-worldly compass.
I had the bit between my teeth, so to speak. I enjoyed nothing more than being on a hunt, though I couldn’t recall one as potentially lethal as this. I walked away from Bull and started scanning the floor in different spots.
“Over here,” I called softly.
Reaching my side the American peered down, following my pointing finger. There was a metal grate set into the floor.
“If we lift this,” I observed. “We’ll probably gain access to the sewer I believe lies beneath this warehouse.”
The other rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “You reckon we should go down into the sewers after the thing Allan? Could be a trap. He’s already tried to ambush us once. Could be he’s a’waiting for us to go down there. Might be he’ll have the advantage of us in a small tunnel. We might not be able to move around enough to defend ourselves.”
“We won’t know until we’ve lifted the grate and had a look at what’s down there,” I pointed out.
He blew out a long breath. “Alright pardner. I’m game if you are.”
He was about to slide his fingers into the grate openings, to then pull it upwards. “Wait.” I instructed. “Don’t want you to lose any digits.”
I walked back to a table I’d passed and lifted up a rusty bailing hook that was laying atop it. “Try this.”
He grunted. “Good thinking.”
He bent and slid the hook under one side of the grate. Using both hands he gave a mighty heave and pulled it out of the stone floor. It clanged against the stone. The noise inside the small, silent, warehouse was horrendous. I winced.
“Guess we ain’t going to sneak up on him,” Bull observed wryly.
I held the lantern over the now exposed hole in the floor. It was square cut, just wide enough for us to get through, if we so wished.
The light showed us a tunnel, slick with green moss and a trickle of water running down the centre. I judged floor to roof to be about four foot high. Not enough space for us to stand upright. We could not see for more than a few feet in either direction of the opening. The Baylok could be waiting for us to descend, and we wouldn’t know until it pounced on us.
“I’ll go first,” I volunteered.
“Sure,” agreed Bull…a second before he stepped forward and let himself drop down into the hole.
As soon as his feet hit the floor of the stone channel they slipped out from underneath him. He fell onto his posterior, bumping his head and knocking his western hat off on the edge of the opening.
I was ready to leap down myself if the Baylok appeared.
“Are you alright?”
“Mite slippery down here.”
A hand reached back up. “Hat.”
I passed it to him.
“Take my rifle,” I said.
I handed him that also.
Then, being careful to lower myself slowly, I too clambered down into the small tunnel. Bull held me steady as my feet touched the slick surface. I felt one foot slide a little. I righted myself and accepted my rifle back.
Both of us were crouched almost double. Our heads brushing the low slung roof. We looked in both directions. I, shining the lantern about. We could see for twenty or so feet in front of ourselves, but then nothing except an inky blackness.
“Can’t see us wandering around too far like this.”
I agreed. “What is your compass showing?”
“That’s the odd thing…now the arrow is pointing dead ahead. I think the Baylok was down here. Listening to us like you said. But when we started to lift the grate it moved off.”
“Which begs the question friend Sackett…are we hunting it, or is it leading us into a trap?”
* * *
