Cruel and Unusual - serialised novel EXCLUSIVE to Steemit Part 28

Exclusive for Steemit - serialisation of Cruel and Unusual – my second novel

Images for this excerpt are from Google Images or Pixabay

Episodes:
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During September, the remains began to become bothersome to Jack and he took the trunk, late at night and deposited it close to the area where he lived for he could not carry it far without drawing unwanted attention.

He hid it in the cellar of a disused building and hoped that it would be undiscovered for a while at least.

A few pieces that would not fit in the trunk were buried close to the river in the soft mud that is left at low tide. Jack was not entirely comfortable with the hiding place but he thought that for the majority of the time, the remains would be covered by water and so should be safe from inquisitive dogs.

The only danger was from ‘Mudlarks’ – scavenging children (and destitute adults sometimes) who scoured the banks of the river for anything that could be used or sold.

He did become worried that his studies had somehow drawn the beasts to him. How had his learning about Werewolves attracted the creatures to find him? He determined to find out more.

Chapter 1

One year, towards the latter part of the nineteenth century, summer was just beginning to go into decline to autumn in the English countryside – not that many could tell in that particular corner of England. There the weather was usually cloaked with smog and the only way to differentiate between summer and winter was by how the residents shivered, or didn’t. As is the English quirk, the weather was of the utmost importance – even through the stinking, cloying pollution.

On most evenings, visibility was but a few yards in some places. The smell was much, much more bothersome. Coal soot hung in the air, mixing with the dampness of that particularly wet summer. The product of the soot and damp made for clinging, cloying smog hanging like a pall over the streets and alleys that made up that chosen city of habitation.

The additional stench helped to make that part of the city a miserable place to exist for the majority. Sewage and rotting slaughter waste were regular aromas – and obstacles to be avoided. Little wonder at the population of rats - they thrived. The air just a few feet above their level was almost too thick to breathe.

Fog enveloped shapes and absorbed the scant illumination given off by the gas street lamps. Figures loomed into view suddenly and were just as swift to disappear. To be certain of recognition, a person would have to be almost on top of another – unless there was another means of identifying them.

On that night, visibility was worse than usual - if that were possible. A large warehouse had been burning with a fierce intensity since the early evening and was only being brought under control in the early hours of the morning. People were amassed on the South Docks, watching the conflagration.

It was little wonder then, that the woman standing a mile or so away from the burning building was alone - for the moment.

“You are late – very late,” she snapped.

“I realise this, madam and I apologise, but I lost my way. I am not yet familiar with this town.”

“No excuse, I left adequate trails. If you had practiced your techniques as you were instructed, you would have picked me up even before I reached here.”

She was not placated by his apology but she was not angry either. Her voice was calm and even, though her words and tone were harsh. She was softly spoken even though they were alone and though the hour was late, she did not chance being overheard.

“I also had a small difficulty to overcome, madam. I take it that it was not an obstacle devised by you as I first imagined.”

“I left no obstacles. As I explained at your first lesson, until you are reasonably adept at tracking, I will leave only the plainest of trails for you.”

“Ah then I think that you need to follow me back to the obstacle, madam, I can show you rather than try to explain my difficulties.”

She nodded agreement and they retraced his steps.

As they walked, she noticed his manner altering. He began looking behind and scenting the air, choked though it was by the smoke from the destroyed warehouse.

She had noticed the smell of fresh blood begin to mingle with the soot and grime and sewage perhaps even before he had. Not that the stench of slaughtered animals was not prevalent – it was – every other workyard seemed to be a place of slaughter for cows, sheep, pigs and horses. Yet the smell of human blood was far more interesting and it was that that she noticed.

She hung back a little and allowed him to approach first. She knew the place he had brought her to; it was called Bucks Row, though the street signs - if there were any - were obscured by the smog. The couple were between rows of houses – slums filled with too many people too poor to get out into semi-decent accommodation.

Her companion had slowed his pace and had almost stopped before she saw what he had returned to show her. She looked hard at the large bundle lying in a closed gateway. If it were not for the smell of blood pervading the whole area, she would have assumed there was nothing of interest.

“As you can see, madam, this is a fresh kill.”

His voice shook her from her reverie, she had allowed the scents to swamp her for a moment but his voice had broken into her daydream state.

“I had to use all of my concentration to avoid my change. Unfortunately, in doing so, I lost your trail and it took a while before I managed to control myself and to find it again.”

“By your explanation, I take it that this is not your work,” she stated rather than asked. “And in the face of this, you resisted change?” Her tone belied the fact that she was impressed at his restraint even if her words did not.

He nodded affirmation.