Read Online Burton & Swinburne 1 - The Strange Affair Of Spring Heeled Jack by Mark Hodder - Free Book Online Page A
Book: Burton & Swinburne 1 - The Strange Affair Of Spring Heeled Jack by Mark Hodder
Read Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Hodder
Ads: Link
intelligent man, so, of course, I discounted the talk as mere superstition. However, if you were to tell me that last night I came face to face with one such, I might believe you.”
“Perhaps you did,” countered Palmerston. He glanced down as the instrument on his desk trembled and emitted a puff of steam. “Have you ever heard of Spring Heeled Jack?”
Burton looked surprised. “That never occurred to me!”
Spring Heeled Jack was a bogeyman, a mythical spook used by mothers to scare naughty children into submission: “Behave! Or Spring Heeled Jack will come for you!”
“So a spy dressed as a character from folklore?” Burton reflected. “But why? And why attack me? What interest has he in Lord Russell's suggestion that you make me a consul?”
“He may be rather more than a spy,” suggested Palmerston. “Captain Burton, I want you to talk to Detective Inspector William Trounce of Scotland Yard. In 1840, when he was a constable, he was present at the assassination. He claimed to have seen this jumping Jack thing at the scene, and, despite opposition from his superiors, still maintains that the creature is a fact, rather than an illusion caused by panic or hysteria, as others have asserted. It nearly cost him his career. For a decade afterwards, he was the laughing stock of the Yard and only rose to his current position through dogged determination and hard work. You have your albatross; Spring Heeled Jack is his.”
Burton spread his arms in a shrug. “Talk to him to what end?”
“As a start to your second assignment. I spoke of a job. Our monarch wants to commission you as-for want of a better word-an `agent.' It's a unique position; you will be required to investigate matters which, perhaps, lie outside of police jurisdiction, or which, due to their nature, require a rather more singular approach than Scotland Yard can offer. You will answer to Buckingham Palace and to me and you will have the authority to command the police when necessary. We live in tumultuous times, Burton. The Technologists are pushing ethical boundaries and the Libertines are pushing moral boundaries. Both castes are too powerful and both have extremist factions. The palace is concerned that science is altering our culture too much and too fast and without proper periods of reflection and consultation. For the good of the Empire, we require someone who can unveil secrets and make snap judgements; someone fearless and independent; someone like you.”
“I'm honoured, sir,” responded Burton, and he meant it.
“It's not an order. If you don't want the commission, you can have the consulate instead.”
“I want the commission, Prime Minister.”
“Good. I have an initial assignment for you, but, as I said, I want you to consider this Spring Heeled Jack affair as a second. If there is indeed a spy within the government or at the palace, unmask him! As for the original mission: find out what these are and where they are coming from-”
The prime minister pulled a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and slid it toward Burton. On it there was a rough sketch, in pencil, of a squat, misshapen man with a snoutlike jaw, his face resembling that of a vicious dog.
“You want me to find the artist?” asked Burton.
“No. I know who the artist is-a Frenchman named Paul Gustave Dore. He's buried himself somewhere in the East End where he's been surreptitiously sketching scenes of poverty-God knows why; you know how these artists are, with their absurd notions of the nobility of the poor and whatnot. No, I want you to find the man-wolves.”
Burton looked up, puzzled. “Man-wolves? You think this is sketched from life?”
“It is. The royal secretary made it known to Dore that the monarch was interested in his work. In response, the artist has been posting some of his sketches to the palace. This was among them. Look on the back.”
Burton turned the sketch over and saw words scrawled in an erratic hand:
Your Majesty, there
“Perhaps you did,” countered Palmerston. He glanced down as the instrument on his desk trembled and emitted a puff of steam. “Have you ever heard of Spring Heeled Jack?”
Burton looked surprised. “That never occurred to me!”
Spring Heeled Jack was a bogeyman, a mythical spook used by mothers to scare naughty children into submission: “Behave! Or Spring Heeled Jack will come for you!”
“So a spy dressed as a character from folklore?” Burton reflected. “But why? And why attack me? What interest has he in Lord Russell's suggestion that you make me a consul?”
“He may be rather more than a spy,” suggested Palmerston. “Captain Burton, I want you to talk to Detective Inspector William Trounce of Scotland Yard. In 1840, when he was a constable, he was present at the assassination. He claimed to have seen this jumping Jack thing at the scene, and, despite opposition from his superiors, still maintains that the creature is a fact, rather than an illusion caused by panic or hysteria, as others have asserted. It nearly cost him his career. For a decade afterwards, he was the laughing stock of the Yard and only rose to his current position through dogged determination and hard work. You have your albatross; Spring Heeled Jack is his.”
Burton spread his arms in a shrug. “Talk to him to what end?”
“As a start to your second assignment. I spoke of a job. Our monarch wants to commission you as-for want of a better word-an `agent.' It's a unique position; you will be required to investigate matters which, perhaps, lie outside of police jurisdiction, or which, due to their nature, require a rather more singular approach than Scotland Yard can offer. You will answer to Buckingham Palace and to me and you will have the authority to command the police when necessary. We live in tumultuous times, Burton. The Technologists are pushing ethical boundaries and the Libertines are pushing moral boundaries. Both castes are too powerful and both have extremist factions. The palace is concerned that science is altering our culture too much and too fast and without proper periods of reflection and consultation. For the good of the Empire, we require someone who can unveil secrets and make snap judgements; someone fearless and independent; someone like you.”
“I'm honoured, sir,” responded Burton, and he meant it.
“It's not an order. If you don't want the commission, you can have the consulate instead.”
“I want the commission, Prime Minister.”
“Good. I have an initial assignment for you, but, as I said, I want you to consider this Spring Heeled Jack affair as a second. If there is indeed a spy within the government or at the palace, unmask him! As for the original mission: find out what these are and where they are coming from-”
The prime minister pulled a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and slid it toward Burton. On it there was a rough sketch, in pencil, of a squat, misshapen man with a snoutlike jaw, his face resembling that of a vicious dog.
“You want me to find the artist?” asked Burton.
“No. I know who the artist is-a Frenchman named Paul Gustave Dore. He's buried himself somewhere in the East End where he's been surreptitiously sketching scenes of poverty-God knows why; you know how these artists are, with their absurd notions of the nobility of the poor and whatnot. No, I want you to find the man-wolves.”
Burton looked up, puzzled. “Man-wolves? You think this is sketched from life?”
“It is. The royal secretary made it known to Dore that the monarch was interested in his work. In response, the artist has been posting some of his sketches to the palace. This was among them. Look on the back.”
Burton turned the sketch over and saw words scrawled in an erratic hand:
Your Majesty, there
Similar Books
