The Dark Detective: Venator (18 page)

As he moved, Max noticed that a bunch of keys were jingling at his waist. One of them had a faint, silvery glow.

“Oh, I get it,” said Max. “You’re the key man. You’re the one who lets in all the demons who work here – and you use that mystical key to do it. I wondered how demons could get in here in the first place, because I know for a fact that Buck House has some heavy-duty protection spells on it – that’s why you need the mystical key. Well, time’s up, Ralphie. Hand it over.”

A mulish expression etched itself on Ralph’s face.

“Oh, really, Max!” said Sophie. “We’re wasting time. Let me handle this. Now, Ralph: are you going to give me that mystical key or not?”

Ralph shook his head again.

“Fine!” said Sophie. Then without further warning, she snatched the silver letter opener from the weapons’ bag and sliced Ralph in half – right down the middle.

A look of faint surprise passed over his face before he decomposed into the usual green goo.

Sophie delicately removed the mystical key from the slime spot.

“There, you see, Max, darling. A woman’s touch.”

“Er... thanks,” said Max.

He felt a bit sorry for Ralph. But only a bit. To be killed twice in the same week must really suck.

“I think I’d better have that mystical key, Sophie. I’m not sure you’re safe with it.”

“Oh, Max! But you’ve already got one! It’s just not nice to be greedy. Pretty, please?”

“Sorry, Sophie. Company orders.”

Sophie’s eyes blazed with lust, but the power of the Blood Oath was too strong and permanent termination too scary a threat. Reluctantly, she handed it over, but her eyes watched thirstily as Max hid the second key inside a deep pocket, next to his original mystical key. He wondered where Ralph had got it; Kennet had told him that only one existed in Britain. But Kennet had been dangerously wrong before; maybe he was wrong about this, too.

“By the way,” said Max, “any idea how many demons work here?”

“Mmm, quite a few,” said Sophie. “At least fifteen, the last I heard, but who knows how many Ralph has been letting in lately. Nowhere has standards anymore – not even palaces,” and she sighed heavily.

Max took a deep breath, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. It was going to be another long night.

He was startled from his reverie by snarling and snapping, as a dozen vicious-looking fur balls hurled themselves towards Sophie.

She moved gracefully as she whirled the golden censer around her head like some medieval knight’s mace.

“No, Sophie! Not the corgis!” yelled Max.

He imagined the Queen waking up to find pieces of her beloved corgis all over the carpet.

“Those aren’t corgis,” hissed Sophie. “They’re Welsh boggits!”

“What?”

“Welsh bog monsters – they’re deadly!”

She scythed the censer through the pack of snarling, snapping creatures. They shrieked in unison and exploded in tiny balls of greyish-purple light, leaving a faint scent of sulphur and Pedigree Chum on the air.

One little furry creature, who was smarter – or more cowardly – then the rest, was trying to make a run for it. Sophie fired her crossbow and pinned the boggit to a rather attractive Persian wall hanging. It fizzled quietly, whimpering softly, and the silver dart fell to the carpet with a dull thud.

“The cleaners are going to have their work cut out,” muttered Max.

The real corgis must have had the sense to stay in their kennels because they were far from the scene of the crime; Max could imagine them whining with fear. They’d probably be okay – so long as they stayed out of Sophie’s way. Probably.

Room by room, they scoured the palace of demons. Most were Level Ones and too dopey to put up much resistance, although there was a nasty moment with a Hawaiian man-eating parrot monster that had tried to peck out Max’s eyes. He’d finished that fiend with a quick shot of Holy water, which left behind the unpleasant and distinctive aroma of toasted feathers.

Max glanced through a window framed by heavy, velvet curtains. The sky was beginning to lighten – dawn was coming, and they still hadn’t had a chance to eradicate anything on the upper floors.

“We’d better split up,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Meet me back in the kitchen in two hours. And remember, just demons – no human kills. And no stealing – of anything.”

“Why, Max, don’t you trust me?” said Sophie looking hurt.

“Not entirely,” said Max truthfully.

Max knew that if looks could kill, Sophie would have reduced him to atom-sized pieces long before now.

Sophie headed up the main staircase and Max took one of the many backstairs that led to the upper floors.

His detective’s nose led him to a servants’ wing; it had about it the distinct whiff of demonic presence. Silently, he crept along the gloomy corridor and paused outside one of the bedrooms. The faintest glow of dirty grey aura was visible from the gap under the ill-fitting bedroom door. Max checked that his Holy water pistol was fully loaded and held it in his left hand. With his right, he used his mystical key to open the door.

The door swung open and Max stared into an empty room.

For a moment, Max was full of doubt but then a shadow leapt at him screeching and yowling with all the ferocity of a mountain lion defending her young; which wasn’t far off the target, as it turned out.

Max was pinioned against the bare floorboards and the creature’s long, feral fangs tried to tear his neck to decorative ribbons. As the gaping maw closed on his collar and the fetid breath of rotten meat made Max gag, the creature’s mouth erupted in a ball of fire as soon as it touched Max’s coat. It howled like a scalded tiger and shot backwards.

Max rolled onto his stomach and blasted the creature into another dimension with a jet of Holy water.

Shaken, Max clambered to his knees, using an old wooden dresser to haul himself upright. That had been too close for comfort. For the third time in 24 hours he had been saved by the protection charms his grandmother had put on his coat. It was an odd thing to be saved by a clothing garment in a life or death situation. But Max figured it was no different from the stories soldiers told of being saved by a Bible or hip flask hidden in their clothes: some item that had taken the bullet that would otherwise have killed them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw some glowing grey eggs. This demon, whatever it was, had spawned! Feeling revolted, Max destroyed the demonic young as they tried to hatch from their shells. They were small and desperate and seemed to sense that they were already orphans. Max had to steel himself, refusing to take pity on the writhing serpent-like creatures that would grow up rapidly to be fully-fledged monsters. Even so, after the extended extermination, Max found himself throwing up in the nearest bathroom. He was glad that Sophie hadn’t been there to see his moment of weakness; no doubt she would have been amused.

Max found only two other demons in the servants’ wing and both were dim Level Ones who had worked, he guessed, as some sort of lower-order scullery maids.

“They’re going to be a bit short staffed after this,” said Max. “You just can’t get the staff these days.”

The sunlight was growing brighter. Max checked his watch.

“Oh no!”

It was already after 7am and he’d let Sophie have the run of Buckingham Palace for over two-and-a-half hours.

He hurried back down the stairs, half expecting to have to search for her. But she had followed his orders to the letter and was sitting at the kitchen table, applying fresh make-up to her already lovely face.

“Max, darling!” she smiled, as if delighted to see him in one piece. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up. But here you are. My! You do look a fright.”

Max caught his reflection in the tiny mirror of her compact. She was right – he looked scarier than Ralph on a bad night: dead or undead.

Max shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it now except straighten his tie, wash some of the slime from his shoes and come up with a way to stop the Summoner from raising the Mother of All Evil, the route of Original Sin. And all he had to help him was a wayward Level Two demon and an empty water pistol.

“If I live through this day,” he said to himself, “I’m going to ask for a raise.”

Sophie had encountered a few of her old ‘friends’ during her rounds.

“And not one of them asked me how I’ve been,” she said. “They were very rude: it really was a pleasure to see them terminated. No manners, some demons.”

Max smiled tiredly.

“So, no problems then?”

“Well, I did happen to find myself in the Royal bedroom.”

Max groaned.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Yes. It was all rather amusing, really.”

“What happened?” said Max, feeling certain that any hope of promotion had just been terminated, too.

“Well, it turned out to be Prince Harry’s bedroom.”

“Oh no. And? Did he say anything to you?”

“He said, ‘What the devil’s going on?’ And I said, ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, Your Highness, just checking for cockroaches’.”

“Is that it?”

“Well, yes. I smiled at him. Then he winked at me and said, ‘Good Hunting!’ We parted the best of friends,” said Sophie, nonchalantly.

Max put his head in his hands. He didn’t like to admit that HRH Princess Anne had mistaken him for a stable-hand, and that he’d been ordered to muck out the Royal horseboxes. Admittedly, she hadn’t been wearing her glasses at the time.

“Well done, Sophie,” he muttered. “Just don’t forget to refill your water pistol before we head out. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it.”

“Oh, I’m glad you said that, Max, darling. Does this mean we have a plan now?”

“Not exactly,” said Max.

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Not even a little teensy weensy bit of a plan?”

“Well, we
suspect
the Bruce woman has the other half of the amulet; we’re
guessing
she’s the Summoner – and demonic; and we’re
hoping
that it’s not the end of the world as we know it. To tell you the truth, Sophie, the only thing I can think of is somehow to try and get the President Elect by herself and if she truly is demonic, hit her with every weapon we’ve got.”

“I always thought that the truth was over-rated,” sighed Sophie. “Now I
know
I was right.”

10 Downing Street

As the palace’s elderly central heating throbbed into life, the first of the Royal servants arrived in the kitchen for their morning duties.

They were rather surprised to see the dishevelled and grimy-looking Max sitting at the kitchen table next to a beautiful and immaculately dressed woman in turquoise chiffon. Luckily Royal servants are trained to ignore odd behaviour and merely supplied them with freshly brewed coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade for Max.

“Sophie, can I ask you a question?” said Max, half way through his meal, whilst Sophie sipped a scalding cappuccino.

“Why, of course, Max, darling,” said Sophie, looking mildly surprised.

“Aren’t you the least bit hungry after all that?”

“Of course,” said Sophie, with a smile that revealed just the tiniest glimpse of snow-white fang, “but I really enjoy my meat a little more... rare... and fresh... than most humans like, or approve of. I didn’t think you’d object if I enjoyed a little... take-away meal whilst I cleared out some of those lower demon orders... in private. ”

“Oh,” said Max, pushing the unfinished breakfast plate from him, his stomach suddenly lurching at the thought of food.

Sophie smiled to herself and sipped delicately at her cappuccino, throwing amused glances at Max over the rim.

Max’s embarrassment was saved by PC Baldwin and the rest of the special guard duty team spilling into the kitchen, on the hunt for hot coffee.

“Morning, Max, DC Smith,” said Eric, throwing a mock salute.

He looked more closely at Max.

“Crikey, mate! You look a bit rough. Busy night?”

“Yeah, you could say that – you could definitely say that, Eric.”

“Anything to with the President Elect’s visit?” said Eric, looking serious.

“Yes,” said Max tiredly. “DC Smith had an – informant – who alerted us to a potentially dangerous infiltration of palace staff. We spent the night checking and have... removed some suspects for questioning. We’re pretty certain that we’ve scoured the palace but we know at least one of the staff had been using a pass key to let in others. We’ve confiscated that, too.”

“You have been busy,” said Eric, looking impressed. “Where are the suspects now? Have they been interrogated for further intelligence?”

“Yes, they’ve been interrogated,” said Max, side-stepping the question, “and it seems certain that the President Elect’s party has been infiltrated, too.”

“Blimey!” said Eric. “Does the Super know?”

“Not yet,” said Max, mentally kicking himself that he hadn’t prepared for this question. “I’ll do it now.”

He stood outside in the clean morning air, staring at his mobile phone.

Sophie came to stand next to him and Max caught a whiff of her favourite perfume, ‘Poison’.

“You’re not really going to tell that Superintendent woman, are you?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Because whatever back-up she sends, they won’t be prepared for demons – it’ll just be more silly humans getting in our way – and that will mean more fatalities – this time human ones.”