The Raven Watcher Read online

  Still, the process is absolutely fascinating. I wonder, would Doctor Grazier have been interested? Did he, indeed, come to one of these evenings?

  No, perhaps not.

  After all, Doctor Charles Grazier was a man of science, and I feel he would have disliked the theatricality of this whole endeavor. He was also something of a penny-pincher, so I doubt he would have been willing to pay the entrance fee on the door. Yet as the Egyptian empress's corpse continues to dancer in Brady's device, I cannot help but wonder whether Doctor Grazier would have seen the irony of this whole exercise. After all, it appears that Empress Hagadah – and I have doubts that this is not just a name invented by Brady – has come back to life before our very eyes, though in reality something else is causing her to move.

  Certainly this is more impressive than a few cards tricks performed in the dark by the river's shore.

  Yes, I think that Doctor Grazier might very well have noted the irony if he had been the one sitting here, watching the Egyptian display while his wife's animated corpse waiting at home in the basement.

  “I say,” the man in the next chair along says, nudging my arm, “it's all a great show, isn't it?”

  “It is indeed,” I reply, trying to not be rude.

  “It's educational, too,” he adds. “That's important, if you ask me. It'd be in rather bad taste if the whole thing was just silliness, but he's trying to teach us a thing or two, eh? I mean, I don't know about you, but I feel I've learned rather a lot about the old Egyptians. I certainly never heard of this Hagadah lady before tonight. I must pop over to the British Library and do some research some time, see what she was all about. One always wants to dig deeper, does one not? One wants some meat on the bones of one's entertainment.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I'd heard great things about Brady's evenings, but he's rather blown my expectations out of the water.” He takes a moment to adjust his monocle. “It's dashed funny, eh? Mind you, I hope nobody digs me up in a few thousand years and puts on a show. I can't say that I'd like that very much at all! Would you?”

  “I would not,” I whisper.

  “Then again,” he says with a sigh, “it's all good-natured, isn't it? It's all in the spirit of larks. One mustn't get too stiff-buttoned about these things. I'm sure Hagadah, or whatever her name was, wouldn't be too fussed. They were all sort of pagan back then, weren't they? That's my understanding, at least. I mean, if they didn't want people to go around unwrapping their bodies, they shouldn't have wrapped themselves up like gifts in the first place, should they? They were basically asking for it!”

  I merely offer a faint, noncommittal smile. In truth, while I can certainly appreciate the humorous side of the corpse's movements, I cannot help but feel that the whole evening is in exceedingly poor taste. After all, this Empress Hagadah – whoever she really was – once lived and breathed just like the rest of us. She was a woman with a life, and I cannot believe that she would want her dead body to one day be used in this manner. Yet it seems I am alone in this sentiment, since all around me the great and good of London are laughing and clapping and cheering as yet more strips of bandage are pulled away from the woman's corpse. The whole spectacle is fascinating, yet the spectacle is merely a secondary aspect for me. It is not the reason I came tonight to this gruesome little gathering.

  The man next to me is still trying to engage me in conversation. Ignoring him, I peer along the row and spot the real target of my interest. Over on the other side of the room, Mr. Alfred Mynot is clapping wildly as the show continues. And he, I must confess, is my real reason for coming tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Maddie

  Today

  Suddenly I gasp and lunge forward, only to feel an immense pain tugging tight all the way up my belly and chest. For a moment my vision flares and all I see is a blinding flash, but the light quickly fades and I blink several times until I'm finally able to see that I'm on a bed in one of the house's upstairs rooms.

  And then I vomit.

  Turning onto my side, I start throwing up. Barely anything comes out, however, and I'm left shuddering as my retching continues. This, too, brings a kind of pain, but this particular pain is a burning sensation down in the pit of my stomach. After a moment the pain starts to build, forcing its way up through my chest in a series of sharp, jagged thrusts as if something is trying to get out. I open my mouth wide and start gagging, and for a moment I actually feel as if some kind of creature is about to force its way through my esophagus and up into my mouth. Finally the back of my tongue spasms for a moment and I vomit again, bringing up nothing more than a few flecks of bile, and the sensation immediately passes.

  Shivering, I reach out and cling onto the side of the bed as I feel the whole world start pivoting around me. For a few seconds, it's as if some invisible force is trying to pull me up and slam me against the ceiling.

  When that sensation fades, I realize I can only hear the sound of my own strained breaths.

  I stay completely still for a moment, still feeling the immense pain in my belly, and then I turn and look around. The pain might come back at any moment, and I already feel as if I've been half ripped apart. At the same time, my vision is still a little blurry and I start blinking furiously, trying to see better. I can't shake the feeling that there's someone else in the -

  “You should be dead,” Nick says suddenly, and I turn to see that a figure is watching me from the open doorway.

  I blink several more times, gradually clearing my vision until I'm able to make out his grinning face.

  “Like properly dead,” he continues matter-of-factly. “Deadly dead. The deadest dead there is”

  He holds his hand up and runs a finger across his neck.

  “That dead.”

  I open my mouth to ask what he means, but at that moment I feel another surge of pain in my chest. I think I'd throw up again, if I had anything to throw up. I'm trembling with fear or shock or anger, or all of those things, and all I can think about is that I have to find a way out of here.

  “I was going to cut you open and gut you like a fish,” he explains. “I dragged your sorry ass up here to this room. Your intestines were all spilling out, there was blood everywhere. You were pale as hell and completely unconscious. I mean, hell, frankly there were a couple of times I thought you were gone already. You hung on, though, which I thought was pretty tough. I left you here for a few minutes while I went down to retrieve a few knives, and then I got caught up doing a few things to Alex's body. But then I came back up here, all ready to get to work on your corpse, and...”

  His voice trails off, and I can see a hint of wonder in his eyes.

  “Remarkable,” he whispers finally. “You're something special, Maddie.”

  Too panicked to say anything, I look down at the front of my tattered shirts. Enough fabric has been torn away to reveal my belly, and I can just about make out some kind of thick black line running through my skin. Reaching down, I pull the fabric aside and see that the line is punctuated by a set of regular cross-marks. I've been stitched back together from below my belly button all the way up to my breastbone. The skin all around the stitches is sore and red, with pus-filled patches on either side and there are dribbles of blood and other liquids smeared all over, but it's almost as if I've been completely put back together.

  And then I remember the sensation of Nick's knife slicing through me.

  The pain.

  “Funny, huh?” he says, and I turn to see that he's still watching me. “It gets funnier, though, 'cause at first I couldn't work out what the hell had happened. For a while, I actually thought you'd managed to stitch yourself back up while I was downstairs. I mean, the idea's completely ludicrous, but it was the only thing that made sense. Like maybe you got a surge of girl power and that was enough to fuel you, and you stitched yourself up thanks to your sheer determination to sock it to me. I genuinely considered that possibility, at least for a while, but then I realized there are li
mits, even for a feisty little thing like you. So I started checking around to make sure we were alone, that there wasn't some brilliant surgeon hiding in a closet, but I didn't find anyone. Still, I can't deny that you're looking surprisingly alive for a girl who got her guts spilled open. Now how did that happen, huh?”

  I try to reply, but all that comes from my lips is a bloody-bubbled rasping sound.

  “So I got to thinking,” he continues, before stepping forward. “I like thinking. It's what sets us apart from the animals.”

  Seeing the knife in his hand, I instinctively pull back to the other side of the bed.

  “Calm down,” he adds with a faint smile. “We've passed the point where you're just another little slut to carve open. Something much more interesting's going on with you, Maddie, and I've gotta say I'm real curious to get to the bottom of it all. If I didn't know better, I'd say that something in this house really really doesn't want you to die. Something not only put all your bits back inside you, but it even managed to scoop up a whole lot of your spilled blood and get that back in too. Now, call me unimaginative if you like, but I can't begin to figure out how that works.”

  He starts coming around the bed. I instinctively scramble back to the other side so that I'm away from him. As I do so, he lets the knife's blade scrape against the bed's metal railing for a moment before stopping and staring down at me.

  “Please,” I stammer, “don't...”

  “Don't what?”

  “Don't...”

  “Don't what, Maddie?” He chuckles. “Come on, I'm not a mind-reader. What don't you want me to do?”

  “Please,” I stammer, “don't...”

  My voice trails off. I just can't get the words out.

  “Do you know the secret?” he asks. “The secret of how you keep surviving, I mean.”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure? You're not holding back from me, are you? Come on, you've been here longer than the rest of us. How can you not have figured out what's keeping you alive? 'Cause something sure as hell is.”

  “I don't know,” I tell him, “I swear...”

  “I'll be honest, Maddie,” he continues, “I was real surprised to find you alive and well at Simon's house in Stratford the other day. I know you managed to fight me off in the park that time, which was a shame, but I still got a good few inches of steel into you.”

  “That was you?” I gasp.

  “There's just something about you,” he explains. “From the moment I first met you, I just wanted to do awful, awful things to you. Funny how that works, huh? You know how sometimes you meet someone who's got sex appeal, and you just want to shag them? Well, Maddie, you've got stabbing appeal. I look at you and I just want to -”

  Suddenly he flashes the knife at me.

  Screaming, I pull back, but I can already hear him laughing.

  “I thought I'd at least wounded you in the park,” he continues, “but then there you were a few days later, right as rain. I assumed it was just a one-off, that you'd been lucky, but you've got another little scar there, haven't you? Did you get saved after that, too? Are you -”

  “Help!” I shout, turning toward the boarded-up window. “Please, I'm in here! Somebody help me!”

  “Now that should work!” Nick says, his eyes wide with excitement. “Somebody should hear you, shouldn't they? Haven't you noticed, Maddie, how apparently anything can happen in this house without people outside hearing?”

  He steps over to the window and touches the blade's tip to the rotten frame.

  “See here?” he asks, chipping away slightly at the wood. “It's hard to make out, but I think there are more of those symbols. They're in a lot of places here, Maddie. The doors, the windows... I reckon they holding something back. They're keeping something in the house, they're forming some kind of barrier. The real world is getting on with things out there in Cathmore Road, oblivious to anything and everything that happens in -”

  “HELP ME!” I scream, but I'm sobbing now and I don't think I can cry out again. Besides, even if I could, I think Nick's right about one thing: the house seems somehow separated from the rest of the world.

  I need to get out of here and then call for help.

  “Where's Matt?” I ask, suddenly remembering the last time I saw him. Turning to Nick, I see the smile spreading across his face. “What have you done to him?”

  “Let's just say,” he replies, “that whatever's keeping you alive here, whatever's got a vested interest in your life, it doesn't seem to care so much about your boyfriend. It didn't do a damn thing to help him.”

  “If you've hurt him...”

  “I've done more than hurt him,” he says smugly, “but if it's any consolation, I can't hurt him anymore.”

  “Go to hell!” I shout, lunging at him but only managing to rise briefly off the bed before slumping back down. I let out a cry of pain and immediately try to get up again, but my whole body is shaking and I can feel the stitches tearing at my belly. “Go to hell,” I whimper, with tears streaming down my face. “Matt, please, I -”

  Suddenly I flinch as I hear a metallic scraping sound, and I look up just in time to see that Nick is coming this way and that he's once again running the knife's edge against the bed. As the blade comes closer, I pull back and roll over to the other side of the bed, but I don't have the energy to do anything else. I stay totally still for a moment, trying to find some strength, but then I'm powerless to resist as Nick takes hold of my shoulder and rolls me onto my back.

  “He's here, Maddie,” he says with a grin, holding the knife up so that I can see my own reflection in the bloodied blade. “Can't you feel him? It's the only possible explanation. Doctor Charles Grazier, aka the real Jack the Ripper, is right here with us. He must have been manipulating us for years, bringing us together like this so that we can serve him. That's why he made me come after you, and it's why he steered you to this house. And since he clearly doesn't want me to kill you, there's only one other obvious thing he wants.”

  Shaking my head, I try to think of some way out of here.

  “I'm not the only fan of Jack the Ripper,” he continues. “All my friends are fans, too. I hope you don't mind them being here, Maddie. I hope you don't mind them watching my little experiment.”

  “What are you talking about?” I gasp.

  “It's a bit crowded in here,” he adds, “but try not to think about the fact that we're being watched. Try to enjoy it. I just really, really need to figure out what's going on here. The rules of engagement, as it were.”

  I look around, but there's no-one else in the room. No-one I can see, anyway. And then, suddenly, the bed shudders as Nick climbs on, and I turn back to him just as he grabs my shoulders and forces me down against the bare metal frame.

  “You can't blame me for being curious,” he continues with a broadening grin. “Each time you were saved, it was while nobody was watching. This time, I want to see the whole thing. You don't mind that, do you? I know it's a private moment, maybe even a little tender, but I'm sure you can share.”

  “No,” I stammer, trying to pull away, “please, don't -”

  Suddenly he lunges at me, driving the knife deep into my belly. I feel the blade slice deep, and I let out a pained gasp as Nick twists the knife around.

  “Now let's see,” he sneers, leaning closer, “who or what comes to save you this time, eh?”

  Chapter Three

  “Doctor Charles Grazier”

  “Oh my word,” Mynot chuckles, seemingly a little breathless as he stumbles away from the house, heading off into the darkness of the London street. “My word, my word...”

  “Did you enjoy the show?” I ask, carefully catching up to him.

  He turns to me, and I immediately see that there are tears in his eyes. I also see redness, and it is clear that the man is quite drunk. Copious amounts of alcohol were served during the show and – while I abstained entirely so that I could keep my thoughts in order – Mr. Mynot and most of
the others have ended the evening rather drunk. This, of course, is to my great advantage. The man is utterly incapable of looking after himself. Indeed, he looks as if he might fall at any moment and end up sleeping in the nearest bush.

  “Oh, I saw you,” he says haughtily. “Yes indeed, I saw you in the audience. What a wonderful experience, eh? Why, I shan't forget tonight in a hurry. All that wonderful Egyptian stuff all over the place, eh? Eh?”

  “Are you going this way?” I ask, raising Doctor Grazier's cane and pointing it along the street. “Might I walk with you a while?”

  “Am I going this way?” He furrows his brow, and from the look in his eyes it's clear that he can barely even focus properly. “Now, let me see. We're in -”

  “I'm sure you are,” I tell him. “Let us walk together for a while and discuss tonight's entertainment.”

  “Of course, of course!” He seems like a jolly fellow, although it is noticeable that he is stumbling a little as we set off away from the lights and toward the darker part of the area. “I don't think I've laughed so much in a long time. That Brady chap has a real skill, doesn't he? Who else could take a dead Egyptian and make her dance like that? I'm sure I shall have the most fantastic dreams tonight! You know, I bet that dead queen – whatever her name was – never imagined how she'd end up being used, did she? Eh? She can't have! Eh?”

  “Indeed not,” I reply, taking care to walk with the grace and elegance of a proper gentleman. “Mr. Brady was most ingenious. The show was a remarkable display, albeit one that was a little gaudy.”

  “You have reservations, old chap?”