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NIPPED IN THE BUD: THE HORROR AT NARTHEX MANOR
By C
Part I
It was a fine spring day in London. Nigel Mycroft, magic detective extraordinaire, was seated at the desk of his City office, when he heard a knock at the door. "Come," he said. In stepped a dark-skinned, seven-foot tall man in a turban, a ceremonial dagger at his side. The tall man bowed.
"Good morning, Atman," said Mycroft. "I take it Lord Lechley is here?"
Atman Singh, Mycroft's faithful manservant, nodded.
"Show him in then, and thank you."
Singh departed, then returned with a trim, middle-aged Englishman in a Saville Row suit. His gray hair was short-cropped, and he had a pencil-thin moustache. Long service in Her Majesty's armed forces had given him a rigidly straight bearing. Singh bowed again and left. Mycroft stood up, walked over to the visitor, and shook his hand.
"Lord Lechley!" he said. "It's been a long time."
"Quite," said Lord Lechley.
"What brings you to London? Your secretary was (how best to put it?) cryptic over the phone."
"Yes, I apologize for that. It's just that . . . one doesn't know who might be listening . . . whom one can trust."
Mycroft showed Lechley to a comfortable chair, then offered him a drink. Lechley thanked him and refused. Then Mycroft sat down again behind his desk. "Take your time, my good man," he said. "And I assure you, nothing you say here will be overheard by another."
"Well," said Lechley, gathering his thoughts. "You know that I bought Narthex Manor in Oversex about a year ago?"
"Yes."
"What you may not know is that I seem to have inherited something else . . . something terrible."
"Go on."
"Well . . . the estate has a number of tenants, servants and farmhands mostly. Among them were a boy and girl in their teens. They disappeared a month ago. We all thought, because of what we knew of them, that they had eloped. No great matter."
"Yes."
"Alas, they hadn't. Their bodies were discovered a week later in the forest adjoining the estate."
"Oh dear."
"They had been . . . punctured, and drained of blood. Not a drop was found anywhere."
"Hmmm," said Mycroft.
"We thought it might have been some sort of large predator. But an eminent physician of my acquaintance ruled out bears, wolves, and everything else he could think of."
"Goodness."
"It gets worse. Certain agents of mine questioned the tenants, as well as the owners and tenants of every estate in the region. It came out, after much prodding, and some threats, that this sort of thing has happened before–many times before. "
"I see," said Mycroft. "And how is it that word of this hasn't made its way to London?"
"I have ways of keeping things under wraps for a little while," said Lechley. "I don't want to start a panic. But my neighbors seem to be old hands at covering this sort of thing up. And where they're concerned, I suspect darker motives. Many, no doubt, are simply afraid. But some, perhaps, are more intimately involved than they would like anyone to know."
"Why come to me? Why not just let Scotland Yard perform its usual exemplary investigation?"
"Because," said Lord Lechley, "I'm afraid Scotland Yard might not be able to handle it. Please look at this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Then he emptied the bag onto the desk. Mycroft saw what appeared to be a four-pointed silver star, at the end of a broken chain. "This was found right next to the bodies," said Lechley. "The parents of the two unfortunates had never seen it before. It's . . . strange. For one thing, it . . . it glows, and it's always warm to the touch." Indeed it did glow, giving off a greenish light, very unlike the gleam of ordinary silver.
"A tetragram," said Mycroft.
"A what?" said Lechley.
"An Atlantean tetragram. It facilitates the casting of spells, and when it's used for that purpose it absorbs a small amount of the energy that's expended. The glow will eventually fade, of course. By the way: nothing provides more energy for spells than human blood."
"Diabolical!" said Lechley. "So you think this would be in your line of work?"
"Absolutely, my good man. Absolutely."
"Do you have a notion . . . what we're up against?"
"No," said Mycroft. "I have no 'notion'; rather, I know exactly what we're up against: belles dames sans merci . . . noble succubi."
"Noble . . . succubi?"
"Yes, the most dangerous species of succubus. They lurk by preference among the aristocracy. They feed on the blood of servants and retainers, as well as using it in their depraved rituals. And they threaten the aristocrats with the same treatment should they resist, or tell anyone else. Most are happy then to let them be. If you persist with your investigation, you can be assured of a visit very soon."
"The aristocracy, you say? Might this evil then reach . . . to the highest level?"
"Impossible to say. I would suppose that, at the least, every wealthy family in Oversex has been compromised. And some may be more than compromised."
"You're aware, Mr. Mycroft, that I earned my title; I wasn't born to it. You must believe I knew nothing of any of this."
"I believe you."
"This is . . . horrible. What shall we do?"
"Well," said Mycroft. "The succubi must know of your investigation. Rather than kill you straight out and risk further attention, they'll attempt to win your silence with threats . . . and rewards."
"Rewards?"
"Don't even let your thoughts go that way! For that is the path to certain destruction! Now let me think. They're formidable, but over-confident, and terribly vain. Give them an excuse to come to you . . . one that allows them to show off. Then, if they do, I'll have them!"
"Can they be vanquished?" said Lechley.
"Oh yes," said Mycroft. "In a number of ways. Now let's form a plan . . . and discuss my fee."
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