That Night in Lagos Page 6

  I frowned at that, for I did detest a messy corpse. It was thoroughly undignified and I could only hope my ghost would see fit to move on rapidly rather than linger to take in the sights. “And forgive the men who were placed in harm’s way because of an investigation they had no knowledge of. Even Inspector Jones who, despite having a deplorable lack of imagination, wasn’t such a terrible bloke after all.”

  That done, I opened my eyes. While I now was as prepared to die as I could be, I resolved that it would not be without a fight, as brief as that effort may be. My one regret that I bitterly mulled over as I listened to the hunter stalk into the room was that all the sacrifice would be in vain: the beast would defeat us and continue on her way without a second thought for the corpses strewn out behind her.

  When I peered through the keyhole, I beheld a beautiful vision of a woman, her every limb full of strength and grace, her skin so dark that it glowed with a blue undertone. Her large, black eyes were those of a skilled predator, confident in the outcome of the hunt.

  “Koki,” I inadvertently whispered on my exhale. I squinted and witnessed the energy field of a shapeshifting demon. The energy contained levels of power I’d never seen before. I was utterly out of my league and my weapon seemed even more pathetic in comparison.

  As she glided into the center of the room, she spoke in a voice that could seduce any unwary heart, even as she mocked me.

  “Are you really the best that Prof Runal has?” She clucked her tongue in a disapproving manner even as her lips lifted in a cruel yet alluring smile. “My, my, the old dog is slipping, isn’t he? Or perhaps he fears facing me himself? And rightly so. But to send a girl child in his place is truly deplorable, even for him. Come girl, come to me and I may spare you.”

  While I wasn’t a fan of long-winded, self-aggrandizing speeches, her voice was so attractive that I couldn’t remember what I’d planned on doing. Why was I in a wardrobe amongst mothballs and uniforms?

  She spun about, a warm and motherly smile on her full, temptress lips. “Come child. Come to me, and I will take care of you. Of all the mortals in this building, you have the least to fear. Together we will remind men why they should fear the night and respect a woman.”

  I smiled at that, as her words wove themselves into my thoughts. It was true: men had no respect at all for a woman with an intellect that rivaled and usually surpassed their own. Faced with such an oddity, they resorted to patronizing tones and snide comments to maintain their misplaced sense of superiority. How often had I suffered such politely veiled ridicule when I presented myself as an investigator? The smug grins and conspiratorial winks they gave each other as they looked me over? The sentiments sometimes blatantly expressed that this was no vocation for a woman?

  I felt my grip on the walking stick and reality slip, so enchanting was her speech and the prospects of a new future that she spun out for me. Her sultry eyes beckoned me with promises of glory and companionship the likes of which I’d never experienced nor would I ever, even if I searched the world for it.

  For one bright moment, I believed her. I embraced the vision of my lofty place as a woman in her world where men cowed before us and all our dreams came true. I made my decision: enough with a world in which I didn’t belong. I was home, here where women like Koki and Mami Wata bowed before no man and needn’t justify themselves to anyone.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I will come.”

  I was preparing to open the wardrobe door and relinquish my weapon when one hand brushed a wetness on my skirt. I glanced down and, in the dim light, I could just make out a dark patch damp with a heavy, sticky liquid.

  Blood.

  It wasn’t mine. I must have brushed against a corpse in my frantic dash to escape the massacre.

  In that memory of what had occurred on the floor below me to innocent men doing their job, her spell was broken. For how could I ever worship a creature that had such disregard for life? And that’s what she would demand in exchange for her vision: servitude to a path of violence.

  Before I could change my mind or submit again to her velvety spell, I gripped my stick, blade pointed up, and with a yell to stir my blood and nerves into action, I burst out of the wardrobe.

  Faster than I’ve ever seen anything transform before or since, Koki shifted from her lovely womanly form to that of the Mantis. Her mandibles, wickedly sharp, clicked as she lunged to meet me and cut me in half.

  My momentum was too great for me to alter my direction. All I could do was slide under her belly, swinging my stick in the hope that the bladed end would connect to some part of her and inflict enough damage that I could once again run away.

  Fortune finally graced me with her presence, for I couldn’t claim much talent at that stage in my profession. The blade thumped against a back leg and with a firm jerk on my part, it slipped into a chink in her armor and sliced through the soft flesh underneath. The leg clattered by my side, still twitching with some of life’s energy.

  Koki shrieked at such an octave and volume as to leave my ears ringing. She spun about, partially collapsing and off-balanced, but clearly determined to annihilate me. Her triangular head transformed into a human head but gone was any attraction. Her dagger-like teeth gnashing, she screamed, “Girl child, I shall devour you while you beg for death!”

  As I fancied neither begging nor being ingested by a giant arthropod, I crawled away; my legs had inconveniently lost the ability to remain upright. A large claw smacked the ground, nearly impaling my hand. Another leg whipped overhead, smashing against the doorway just as I dragged my weary self into the hallway.

  Once there, I pushed myself up against the wall and tottered toward the stairs. I glanced back just as two long legs and a human head pushed out of the room behind me. I nearly collapsed at the sight until I realized her shoulders were too wide for her to proceed.

  Perhaps the loss of her leg had addled her mind or weakened her life force, for she didn’t transform back into a woman’s form in order to exit the room. Instead, she pierced me with her stare, her features alarmingly calm and bizarrely unperturbed. When she spoke, her voice was level and assured. “Listen well, little girl: there is no place too far or too remote for you to hide. I swear upon the head of Anansi that I will find you and I will consume you limb by limb while you scream and beg me to end your miserable existence. And eventually, I will end it.”

  And then she smiled. Somehow that radiant expression petrified me to my very core more than her threats could. I teetered down the stairs, her words ringing after me. I slipped and slid through puddles of coagulating blood, and staggered around piles of warm corpses. Only when I exited the constabulary’s grounds was my path free of bloodied madness. My legs gained some strength from the clean, salty breeze and I began to run. I didn’t stop running until I reached the abode of Mrs. Pritchard.

  My mind nearly incoherent with terror and images that clung to me like a wet dress, I had barely enough presence of mind to change into clean clothes. Abandoning my bloodied outfit, I hastily grabbed my necessities while shouting at my astonished hostess to ready a carriage to rush me to the port.

  “But my dear,” Mrs. Pritchard protested. “Surely this is a most ill-advised plan, for I doubt there are any ships setting sail for England tonight, or even tomorrow morning.”

  “It matters not,” I sobbed as I sat upon my valise in order to close it. “There is bound to be a ship leaving shortly for somewhere. Anywhere will do.”

  “Goodness, I’m all astonishment. I must protest and implore you to reconsider,” the good lady continued while standing at the doorway and eyeing my frantic efforts to prepare myself for immediate departure. “This is most alarming. Should I send for an apothecary? Or perhaps your nerves would be fortified by a small nip of sherry with an egg mixed in?”

  I declined the doctor and gratefully accepted the offer of the sherry minus the egg, although I feared I would require more than a thimbleful to soothe my frayed nerves. Indeed, Mrs. Pritchard’s ala
rm increased as I consumed not one but several nips and only then could I present a semblance of coherent thought.

  “I thank you, madam,” I said, my chest still heaving from my mad dash through Lagos and the flurry of tempestuous emotions that wracked my being. “And for your hospitality. Is the carriage prepared?”

  Frowning, she nodded. I could only be grateful that her husband was away, for I was certain if she had another to assist her, she would’ve forcibly insisted I remain until a doctor could attend to me. And what plausible story could I present to such a man? I would be locked away with great rapidity, and without Prof Runal’s influence to mollify the authorities I would remain thus.

  I beseeched Mrs. Pritchard to remain in her room with doors and windows firmly barred against the night, which only exasperated her perturbation. After a hasty farewell, I set out for the port. The horse couldn’t trot fast enough and I anticipated that at any moment, a nightmare would stalk out from a shadowy alley, decapitate the driver and drag me screeching into the night.

  “I shall not scream,” I said firmly to the vision my mind had conjured up. Yet my characteristic confidence was somewhat lacking, even to my own ears.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, there was activity at the port and I marveled how life could continue with such normalcy while not that far away, an atrocity had been perpetrated. Ignoring the lurid comments and whistles from inebriated sailors, I marched into the port master’s office where a sleepy African grew increasingly alarmed at my insistence that he direct me to whatever ship was departing in the morning.

  “But madam,” he said, his eyes peering up at me with consternation, “the captain, he is a-sleeping.”

  “Then awake the captain immediately,” I said in as commanding a voice as I could summon in the situation. “Or I shall tear you limb by limb…”

  The man stumbled to his feet and stared at me, the whites of his eyes more pronounced.

  “I mean, I shall do it myself,” I amended my statement as I attempted to block Koki’s words from my mind.

  The poor man was conflicted as to which evil was worse: the captain’s anticipated ire or my immediate and threatening presence. I must have looked a frightful sight, for he set out to find a sailor intoxicated enough to enter the captain’s quarters. Sometime later, a stout and muscular fellow of Mediterranean origin appeared on the deck of a nearby ship bearing the Spanish flag.

  “Madam,” he roared as he stomped down the plank that connected the deck to the dock. “This had best be an emergency of epic proportions. There had best be a fire in our warehouse, a gaping hole in our hull, a tsunami in the bay, a…”

  “All of that and more,” I interrupted him. “When does your ship depart?”

  Flustered at the interruption to his grand speech, the man gaped at me. “What matter is it to you?” he demanded. “And don't you wish to know to where we sail?”

  “As long as it is away from these shores, I shall be satisfied,” I replied, shivering as a breeze brushed my damp brow.

  The captain narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you a fugitive of the law, miss? I won’t tolerate criminality aboard my ship, or near my ship or…”

  “Nothing of the sort,” I said, interrupting him yet again. “There’s been an emergency, and I must depart for England at once.”

  The man rubbed at the stubble peppering his chin. “Well, we depart on the morning’s tide. Thing is, we aren’t set for England but for Spain, to the port of…”

  “Close enough,” I blurted out, involuntarily glancing behind me in the direction of the constabulary. It wasn’t visible from the port but I could still visualize it. If I breathed deeply enough, I imagined I would inhale the coppery scent of blood. “Please show me to my quarters.”

  I veered around the astounded captain and strode up the plank, ignoring his protestations that he had no quarters suitable for travelers, particularly those of the female persuasion.

  “Don’t mind my persuasion,” I advised him. “Just furnish me with a room that has a horizontal surface upon which I can sleep and a door that I can lock. You will be reimbursed handsomely enough.”

  The man muttered in another language, and I’m certain it would translate into a disparaging comment about Englishwomen. I was even more certain that the translation was irrelevant, as long as a room with a door could be procured; the view was secondary.

  While small yet satisfactory quarters were provided, and better yet with a solid and lockable door, I was unable to close my eyes, never mind sleep. Every creek of the wooden deck set me on edge as I waited for the screams of the dying. Every slosh of waves against the hull caused me to cringe as I saw the puddles of blood. Only when the ship had left Lagos far behind did I at last slip into a restless slumber. Yet even in those moments of sleep, I knew that the memories of Lagos would follow me home.

  It was a longer trip home yet I didn’t notice the passage of time. The crew left me to my own devices, perhaps sensing my lack of interest in social interactions. That suited me very well, for I was deeply enmeshed in the nightmares that chased me even during my waking moments.

  Once home, I submitted my report, although I was certain Prof Runal had received news already; the old dog had a way of sniffing out information, particularly the sort that involved dismembered bodies and supernatural beings. He for his part made little comment, apart from asking after my health and suggesting I take a leave of absence.

  I confined myself to the house, despite Mrs. Steward’s assertions that all I needed was some fresh air.

  “After all, Bee,” she said with a sniff and a wave of a lavender-scented handkerchief, “the best means by which to recover from as lengthy a convalescence as yours is to take a stroll about the park.”

  “Or better yet, attend a party,” Lilly pipped up with a giggle. “And dance with a handsome officer.”

  Mrs. Steward beamed approvingly at her daughter and then frowned. “Lilly dear, you know that will provide little consolation to Bee, unlikely as it is that anyone would dance with her. The best she can hope for is for our companionship during these trying days as she recovers from her debilitating illness.”

  “Perhaps a stroll would be a fine idea,” I interjected.

  With Mrs. Steward’s encouragement, I departed immediately, despite my fear that Koki would be lurking outside, preparing to make good on her promise.

  But she didn’t. Days bled into weeks which melted into months which flowed into seasons, and still the Mantis hadn’t appeared. I began to trust that perhaps, just perhaps, it was possible for me to return to my life without fear of reprisals from a giant insect. Yet every excursion was accompanied by a slight tremor within my system, a foreboding of what could happen around the next corner.

  Thus my life continued, the hours hobbled together by family excursions, Society missions and an underlying trepidation. And thus it may have continued if not for an invitation by Lady Williams.

  “Lady Williams invited us to her salon,” Mrs. Steward gushed one fine morning. “Imagine that, Lilly! And even you, Bee, have been summoned. What marvelous grace the Lady demonstrates toward us.”

  “I distinctly remember you referring to Lady Williams as a nosy, annoying, social parasite,” I mused.

  Mrs. Steward clucked at me. “Nonsense,” she retorted. “Lady Williams is nothing but magnanimous, for there is sure to be a delightful array of young men at her soiree that we can keep in mind for future consideration.” And she beamed at Lilly who was beside herself with the possibilities latent in that statement.

  “And what matters it to us if that be true?” I questioned with an innocent gaze, but my aunt knew me too well.

  “Beatrice, you do take such delight in vexing me,” she huffed. “Come or don’t, it’s all the same to me.”

  Reluctant as I was to attend anything apart from Koki’s funeral, I couldn’t deny my young cousin’s entreaties that I join them. And so one evening we set out for the Williams’ winter residence. I trailed behind my au
nt and cousin as we ascended the stairs to the entrance of Lady Williams’ abode. Even there, with the bustle of well-groomed humanity all about me, I continued to glance about, searching for a triangular head amongst the crowd.

  “Beatrice, do stop your dawdling,” Mrs. Steward chastised me.

  I continued to linger at the entrance, as much to distance myself from Mrs. Steward’s incessant chattering as to more adequately scan the room. Not surprisingly, there were no dark faces amongst the swirling and gaily attired guests. I breathed deeply, my nose tingling at the mix of perfumes, food and sweat, which was a great improvement over blood and gore.

  “Lady Williams,” Mrs. Steward shrilled in exaggerated delight.

  I remained in the background, loathe to involve myself in the inane conversation I was sure would follow. I was not disappointed, for Lady Williams immediately introduced a uniformed man to the Steward women — a Lieutenant Colonel of the Cavalry — while almost simultaneously launching into gossip regarding one of her own guests. I could see Mrs. Steward eyeing the uniform and I closed my eyes, although I couldn’t block my ears quite as effectively.

  “Poor Mrs. Cricket,” the Lady enthused and she clucked her tongue with false sympathy. “The woman has a degenerative muscular disease. Nothing contagious, mind you. But nothing she can recover from. Indeed, I heard that she married the doctor for that reason, hoping he would find a cure. Alas, to no avail.”

  Lilly tugged at my sleeve, forcing me to step to Mrs. Steward’s side. My aunt glanced with annoyance at me and demanded, “What took you so long?”

  I was now facing the Lieutenant Colonel who glanced disinterestedly at me before starting slightly. His alarmed gaze rose up to my eyes, his own widening. I repressed a sigh, for I was familiar with that reaction: my hazel eyes were so light in color as to appear nearly golden.

  The young man’s alarm faded into a radiant and delighted smile. I found myself quite taken by his countenance which was more than pleasing, as was his posture, dress and overall composure. I was certain other women had the same sentiments, for I sensed their unhappy gazes upon me, but what did that matter? The Lieutenant stepped forward, bowing deeply.