@lickitysplitart did this INCREDIBLE picture to go with the next case of Eliminate The Impossible - The Soho Square Murder. Holmes fans will note she has used a pose from the original sketches done for The Strand Magazine where Conan Doyle originally published his work. I love you so much Beth, you are such an amazing person and the best of friends.
In this case, Merlin and Escanor are thrust into a murder investigation which takes them to a new part of London’s underworld. The case is told over chapters 7-9 and features Monspeet, Derieri, Melascyla and Cusack.
I’ve been mostly taking the Holmes canon and the BBC series as inspirations for these cases but this one was also inspired by The Abergavenny Murder which is a radio play written by Bert Coules who was one of the authors who adapted the Holmes canon for BBC Radio 4. He then wrote original stories featuring Holmes and Watson which told some of the tales Conan Doyle hints at but did not actually write up, such as The Lighthouse, The Politician And The Trained Cormorant and Colonel Warbuton’s Madness. These are absolutely incredible and superbly acted (Mark Gattis who co-wrote the BBC’s Sherlock and plays Mycroft is in one of them). They’re on audible so do check them out if you have a subscription.
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Chapter 5 of The Call of Duty for Geldris Week. Last chapter being published tomorrow :)
“I want everyone back here in four hours.”
Zeldris glared around the Commandments and generals, pressing his lips together with dissatisfaction. Derieri and Monspeet looked ready to go, their dark eyes hard with a swirling rage, and Fraudrin was practically bouncing on the balls of his over-large feet. But the others could not have looked more bored. Melascyla was twirling her long hair through her hands, the strands of pink running like ribbons around her fingers, as Galand chuckled to himself, the sound reverberating around in his armour. Some crack squad these were supposed to be.
“This’ll never work,” Melascyla said lazily, flicking an imaginary speck of dirt from her nails. “No one’s ever got to the goddess’ gate before and, no offence, we’ve lost our commander, and Aranak and Zeno…”
“This will work, and you will do as you are told.” Zeldris stared directly into his new colleague’s eyes, sensing the flickering movement in their depths. “And you would do well to remember your place. You are here to obey orders, not question them.” With that, Zeldris let forth a bolt of power, substantial enough to fell the mountain that stood behind them, the ocre rocks common in the demon realm crumbling to yellow dust to scatter on the wind. The air was filled with the stench of sulphur, but Zeldris did not care. He watched as the others choked, spluttering as their eyes went wide, one and all surveying the destruction before them.
“You will all of you do exactly as I say. Do I make myself plain?”
The nods he received could almost have been choreographed. Zeldris relaxed his shoulders, though his insides were still in an uproar, and he had to work hard not to respond to the splash of bile in his throat. If this went wrong, it was all over. He had written to Gelda, trying his best to explain the situation, and had received only a few scrawled words in reply. Be quick. Treason planned. He swallowed hard, failing to quell the fear that gripped him like a vice. As he had suspected, Izraf was planning some sort of mutiny. If left unchecked this would bring about the vampires’ death.
What rankled most was that Meliodas must have been planning this for a while. Zeldris had sent out spies to Stigma’s headquarters as soon he had fixed the plan up with Gowther, knowing he needed to get the lie of the land. The reports had come back with almost gleeful news about how close Meliodas seemed to be to his new friends, how he and the fairy and giant kings were on the best of terms. Such relationships had not materialised overnight.
Gritting his teeth at the rank injustice, Zeldris barked, “Leave. Now. And do not come back until you have accomplished your mission. This war ends today. If you capture the traitor, bring him back unharmed. If you cannot do so, inflict as much damage as required to subdue him. The one to retrieve him will receive a bonus.”
The air was filled with the rustle of wings as the demons around him shot up to the sky, soaring to Britannia to enact Gowther’s plan. A group were to distract the archangels, engaging them in battle at the edge of the fairy king’s forest, while Gowther’s doll and Melascyla took over the gate, casting their magic so that the entire demon army could pour into the Celestial Realm. He had not told Gowther of his own tentative plans, which had hardened to certainty the more he heard about his brother’s activities. As he listened to tales of songs by the fire, of his brother’s arms draped casually around a silver-haired goddess slut, any admiration he has ever felt for the shit had coalesced into a sludge of hate. He was supposed to be getting married and, because of the traitor, he was instead organising a war, Gelda’s life hanging in the balance as her father plotted treason.
With a shake of the head, Zeldris summoned his darkness to build wings over his back, the membranes of the substance catching in the wind. He took off at a rush, gliding over the barren rocks and so up to Britannia, shielding his eyes against the sudden glare. Everything was fresh, vibrant, the cold breeze ruffling his hair and freezing the inside of his ears.
It was not long before he found the village he was looking for. His scouts had informed him of the humans who had taken pity on one of their own, nursing the injured demon back to health. Stigma had objected to such an act of war from a bunch of puny ants with no power to speak of and had executed a brutal revenge. The houses were smashed, stones and the straw of thatched roofs spread out over the grass, a child’s broken doll crushed into the dirt. Zeldris smiled to himself as he spotted a few human survivors huddled round a small fire, their hands grasping everyday objects to be used as weapons: shovels, pitchforks, even a rusty old hoe.
The group looked up sharply as he swooped overhead, casting the men into shadow. The tallest rose, his sky blue hair gleaming silver in the sunlight, his body tense and ready to spring. Zeldris alighted right next to him, holding up his hands in a gesture of greeting.
“Do not fear, I have not come to visit any more harm upon you. I know you have suffered in the defence of my brethren. As the demon king’s son I am here to reward you, to repay you for all you have suffered.” Zeldris snapped his fingers, tendrils of darkness snaking from them, winding over the earth into a nearby copse. A squeal pulsed from the trees, and some of the men covered their ears as the darkness retracted into Zeldris’s form, dragging a dusk bison out from the wood. “This is just the start,” he declared as the human beside him quickly descended on the struggling beast, slitting its throat faster than thinking.
Zeldris watched with fascination as they processed their kill. The humans were remarkably efficient, skinning the carcass, some scraping the leather clean so that it could be washed and slicing muscle free from bone. Even the tendons were saved, the long strings washed with water drawn from the nearby well and left in the sun to dry. The demon knew from his studies that the men would use this material to tie axes to their handles and to catch fish in the rivers. Soon, the smell of roasting meat wafted through the breeze, the tall man pulling out from herbs and spices from his pockets to season the meal.
“And what do you want from us?” The leader rounded on him, crimson eyes narrowed. Zeldris returned his stare, unperturbed, and he found himself impressed that the man did not turn away. “Don’t pretend this is charity. I know your kind, you never give anything away for free.”
“Not an unfair observation,” Zeldris admitted, “but this is to your advantage as much as mine. I know where Stigma have their headquarters.” All the men looked at him as he made this remark, and he could feel their hatred as if it burned the air.
Zeldris glanced around, allowing himself a slight smirk. “Well, shall I tell you? I’ll wager before I arrived you were all talk about how you would crush Stigma’s scum. Is that not so?” Some of the younger humans looked down, their cheeks flushing red. “They are in the fairy king’s forest. It is hidden to your kind but I will lead you there if you wish. Then you may do whatever you please.”
“I’m not sure about this, Rou,” one of the young men warned.
“Peace!” The tall leader crossed his arms over his chest, glancing round at his men before turning to Zeldris. “And if we go there, demon, what’s in it for us?”
“My kind are attacking the goddess clan today. If we are successful I promise you that you will be treated as allies. We will rebuild your village so you can rebuild your lives, enjoy decades of peace to live and to love. If you are attacked you can rely on us for assistance. Or you can carry on scraping out a meagre existence as war rages around you, nursing your wounds and wondering what might have been if you had been braver and taken your just revenge.”
The one called Rou gave a gruesome leer, and he felt a surge of triumph to see the human had bought his arguments. “Alright then. Come on guys~” Zeldris watched with curiosity as every single man instantly sprang to their feet, shoulders tensed, hands gripping their makeshift weapons in earnest. Rou addressed them, his eyes blazing and hard. “Kill as many as you can. Whatever their race, whatever they say. If they fight for Stigma they will pay. We will have our revenge. Lead the way,” Rou commanded, and Zeldris smiled in return.
***
The atmosphere was so sour Gelda could practically feel her mouth water. The royal vampires were lined up on the dais, surrounding their king as he sat still on the throne. The princess could feel Izraf’s disgust directed towards their unexpected guest - the vampires were natural enemies of the goddess clan - but the words that left his mouth were dripping with honey.
“It is a pleasure you welcome you to Edinburgh, Lord Mael.”
The archangel bowed, his long silver hair falling around him. “I too am delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” he said, and Gelda found herself relaxing unwillingly into the sound of his voice. It rang like liquid light, the sonous tones filling the vast throne room with an unmistakable authority.
“I have to admit, I was a little surprised on being informed by my queen that you desired an audience. But then perhaps it was to be expected…” Gelda bit down hard on her lip, her face burning as Mael glanced up in her direction, his golden eyes seeming to see right through to her soul. “I am told that the demons do not keep their promises.” Gelda sensed Ren shuffling uncomfortably as Mod and Orlondi fought to suppress cruel giggles. She allowed her eyes to drift to the floor, blinking rapidly in an effort to keep the tears pricking the back of her eyes at bay.
When Mael next spoke his voice was hard. “If you are to join our alliance you will need to provide us with surety of your absolute, total, unquestioning loyalty. Nothing less than complete surrender will suffice in the circumstances. You have aided our enemies, financed the slaughter of hundreds of my people. What can you possibly give us that will make up for your sins?”
“Gelda, tell Lord Mael everything about the princes.”
The command fell like a whip across her back. She stared at her father, her hands twisting together uncontrollably as she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. “I… no!” she cried as she looked desperately from the vampire king to the archangel, both of whom glared at her in clear disapproval. “I can’t,” she begged, “I just can’t.”
“If it makes it any easier I do not need to hear about the eldest,” replied Mael bitterly. “Against my better judgement he has been accepted into Stigma’s ranks and, whatever I think of his dubious morals, I believe he has given us as much intelligence as he feels he is able to. The youngest though is an enigma, and his brother seems unwilling to give us information in that direction. Who is he? What drives him? What is he planning?” Mael demanded, his eyes squarely on Gelda. “If anyone knows then you do. Tell me, and my kin will be pleased to offer you allegiance.”
“No!” Gelda took a step back as Mael leaned slightly forwards. Her hands moved involuntarily to clasp at her necklace, the pendant of which concealed Zeldris’s last message to her. She was just thinking how next to respond when she felt her arms twisted hard behind her back, and she cried out as Orlondi pulled the chain she wore from around her neck, feeling the sting as the delicate chain broke against her skin. Orlondi grinned at her, then passed the locket to Izraf, who gave a pleased huff as he proceeded to open it.
“Lord Mael, this is a letter from the person in question. It is not deeply specific, but there is a hint as to the demons’ next planned attack. I trust this will be enough for your purposes? No,” Izraf warned, his fingers closing tight around the letter as the archangel reached out. “I need to hear your assurance first.”
“Very well,” Mael said loftily. Izraf nodded then proffered up the folded parchment as tears spilled down Gelda’s cheeks. Mael read through the contents, his face darkening as his jawline grew tense. “I must go now. I will return to complete these negotiations.” Before Izraf could do more than bark an objection, the archangel had bowed stiffly and strode from the room, his footsteps echoing as he made his way out of the palace.
“Orlondi, Ren, escort princess Gelda to her quarters,” Izraf commanded as his hands that rested on the arms of the throne balled into fists. “See to it that she cannot use her magic to escape.”
Gelda summoned her power in an instant, the temperature rising as fire glowed in her hands. “Stop her!” Izraf yelled. Gelda screamed as Ganne thundered towards her, crushing her arms to her sides with his huge hands, extinguishing the flames she had called to her aid. Mod followed close on his brother’s heels, wrapping lengths of rope around Gelda as she struggled in vain against the tight bonds.
“That ought to hold her,” Mod said with a grin. Gelda aimed a kick in his direction, but stopped sharp as she felt the edge of a blade on her neck, looking down to see the pearly sheen of Ren’s sharpened claw pressed right against her.
“He’ll write to her again,” Izraf said confidently as he glowered at his daughter. “Make sure she communicates with no one and intercept any messages that are sent to her from the outside. We will make the demons pay - every single last one of them - even if that means helping the goddess scum. Take her away,” Izraf boomed. Seeing there was no persuading him, Gelda went silently, praying that Zeldris would somehow know what was happening, and knowing full well that there was no way he could.
***
“Utter failure!” the demon king bellowed as Zeldris stood stoically before him. “How could you have put your trust in that mage? How could you not have known he would betray us all?”
Zeldris grit his teeth. Truth be told he had asked himself the same question at least eighteen times as he had reluctantly returned to make his report. On being told by Melascyla of the doll’s betrayal, of the way Gowther had manipulated the gate so that it released his master for jail rather than transport the demon army into the goddess’ stronghold, it had felt as if scales had fallen from his eyes. He should have realised the mage was so keen to aid his endeavours only because he had a motive of his own. In part, Zeldris understood; after being incarcerated for so many centuries, the pull of freedom must have been almost unbearable.
“It was not a total failure,” intoned Zeldris. “The kings Gloxinia and Drole are now our allies. At their request I have furnished them with Commandments. They are strong and powerful, worthy replacements for our fallen brethren, and their loss will grievously affect our enemies. The fairy king’s forest has also been attacked. Many of the fairies are dead at the hands of rebel humans. The trust Stigma is built on will crumble to dust.”
“Be that as it may, your objective has failed!” The king banged his gauntleted hand down hard on the arm of his throne, the sound reverberating through the room like thunder. “The traitor is still at large, the archangels are unharmed, and the goddesses have destroyed thousands of our kin while you looked on and did nothing!” Zeldris swallowed hard, but made himself return the king’s stare, forcing himself not to show the way pain and rage swirled within him.
After several long moments, the king snarled, “If you have nothing to say of your failure on the battlefield, then perhaps you would care to know how I have deemed you will expiate your transgression.” Zeldris shifted, his stomach curdling as he saw a rare smile spread over the king’s face. “It will interest you to know, I am sure, that the vampires you have been so keen to befriend have received the archangel Mael as a visitor, clearly with the intent of forming an alliance.”
Zeldris just managed to suppress the groan that rumbled in the back of his throat. “I see it is no surprise to you,” his father growled. “Then you will have anticipated my next instruction. You will deal justice on our former allies. I want them annihilated! Make no exceptions: you are to destroy every single last one of them. Leave no trace of them upon this earth.”
The pit of Zeldris’s stomach fell to his boots. “Do not even think of trying to dissuade me.” The demon king sat forward, his power blooming around him. “You carry part of my power. I can sense your emotions. If you are foolish enough to try and deceive me, know that I will be able to tell in an instant. Now go! And this time, do not dare to return to me unless you have completed your task, to the letter. You have left enough failure in your wake for one lifetime. Because of your ineptitude, I now have to deal with your traitorous brother myself. Do not force me to make you share his fate.”
Blanching slightly, Zeldris gave a stiff bow, not trusting himself to speak as he sped from the room.
