Chapter 3

Ned awoke with a start. His eyes although still bleary with sleep hunted the room as if looking for a hidden assailant.

Quickly his senses returned as did the sense of panic. He vaulted out of his chair ignoring the protestations of his cramped body and rifled through his clothes.

At last he found the object of his interest, and he plunged his aquiline nose into its folds. Memories flooded back, flashing through his mind like a rapier - Daphne! He had last seen Lady

Daphne racing away with the professor from his Oxfordshire haunt.

But she was here! This was her scent. Jane! They were after Jane, trying to tear her away from hin and his protection.

"Cads! Bounders! I will tear them..." Holmes paused, Brighton!

Hove would know what to do. Dressed only in his nightgown as yet still unshaven Ned rushed from his dim bedroom and hurtled down the corridor. He managed to resist the urge to scream; but only just and purely due to his military training.

He yawned lustily as he wandered down the darkened passage. "Why me?" he thought, "Why is it always me?" He uttered a curse and kicked at the dank mossy wall. Bertie was not happy. Not happy at all. He had not slept well. He had imbibed too much from the cellar so to endure the boredom of the previous evening. And now this - he had to feed these things; Burgabiter's failures were so very repulsive. Bertie swore once more and swung the bucket into the wall.

The clanging sound set of a chorus of grunts, whoops and howls that almost deafened Bertie. The scientist in him wondered about this; were they expecting him? Did the clang of the bucket mean food to them? What did it matter, he would never be able to publish now. Besides which what sort of scientist could make a name for himself from something as simple as a conditioned response? His mood darkened; a lifetime of feeding misfits, not exactly what he thought Alphonso had been offering. No in his own mind that had all been wine, women and song. Now it was regret, hard work and these blessed oaf's.

Cautiously he slid back a panel in an iron reinforced door.

Bertie tipped some of the slop in his bucket through the gap; he did not even aim at the rancid receptacle. No that would have brought the slithering mass of monstrosity in to his view; something he would fight hard to avoid.

Religiously he worked his way along the damp corridor feeding each inmate. Bertie tried hard not to notice the unappealing stench of offal and whatever it was that these things excreted.

Wearily he turned the corner and stopped dead. "Damn and blast not again!" Nervously her peered into the darkness, hoping, praying that it had gone.

The reassuring sound of a forced window swinging in the early morning breeze was welcome music to his ears, he sighed. Then

Bertie gazed at the shattered door and spoke to the vacant cell.

"Well beastie it will not be me you feed on, and I hope in god's name it is not yet another ruddy shepherd."

Bertie frowned. He would have to tell Daphne. Ah well, that could wait. For now came the only pleasant part of his duties. He opened the only door that remained unlocked at all times.

"Morning Raymond! Excellent - I see you are prepared."

A tall being of athletic build stood and approached Bertie. As he walked his regal erection bobbed, at each step a globule of secretion formed and dripped to the cell floor. Finally his moist lips met Bertie's. The young lord bucked as the sweet aphrodisiac

Raymond's golden skin perspired swept over him. No female had ever brought Bertie such pleasure. Indeed, no human. But of course Raymond, he was not human.

Brighton was crawling along a sandy ditch, his stomach pressed hard into the desert dust. He was sure he could hear the

Mahdist's approaching; the devil's never were subtle. Suddenly he was grasped by the shoulders! The Sudanese shook him violently.

"Brighton, Brighton... Come on Hove"!

Now here was a turn up for the book. The devil did not only speak in English, but he knew his name!

"Brighton, wake up! It is I!"

"Wha... Who the dev... Holmes is that you?"

"Yes it is I, and you are in England, not Khartoum." Replied Ned.

"Well that is a relief. But what in the blue blazes is wrong?"

Yawned Hove.

"They are going after her - they are here, Daphne... Do you understand."

"Not a blessed word old chap. Now calm down and start at the beginning."

Brighton listened incredulously at Holmes excited patter; he spoke of his love for Jane, his fear of her kidnapping, and all manner of speculation. Hove frowned and let out a low whistle when Ned finally ended his jumbled tirade of words.

"Well old chap it has certainly got you upset. A bad dream I expect, never did like to eat so richly; it toys with all manner of emotions. Now go back to bed get some much needed sleep and we will discuss this in the morrow."

"No you fool! Have you heard nothing!" Holmes virtually screamed.

"Shhh, you will wake someone soon. Can we not discuss this at a more godly hour?"

"No and the discussion is over, as you are leaving!" Snapped Ned.

"Leaving?" Hove cocked an eyebrow. Surely Ned was not losing his mind? "Have you been smoking that blessed pipe?"

"I have not, nor have I been dreaming. Look it is all here." Ned thrust the scribbled notes into Brighton's unwilling hands,

"See?"

"Yes, I see" Hove coughed, "and this is why I must leave?"

"Finally you see! Yes you must take this to Sherlock, his mind will unlock the secret. I know it will."

"Ah, and Sherlock is here?" Asked Brighton.

"Of course not! He's in London, Baker Street. Sometimes I wonder about your sanity Hove."

Brighton looked down at the sheets of scrawl, and then back at

Ned; the detectives face ran with perspiration.

"I have cause to sometimes as well." Muttered Hove.

"Well, up with you then, it's a long ride to London..." Prompted

Holmes.

Hove sighed, he had never seen Ned in such a state, and he had seen him in some very tight spots. Maybe Sherlock could shed some light on all of this after all.

"Very well, but first I must dress and shave. As should you my friend."

Ned merely nodded beneath his unkempt hair, his eyes still wild.

Sir Richard had not slept, he had simply gazed out of his bedroom window all night just waiting for the light. He knew, of course, that soon the most fateful day of all would soon dawn. What's more he knew that for all his assumed power, he was completely out manoeuvred. His attention was dragged away from the window by the insistent pulsing of his manhood. He gazed at his erection with undisguised repugnance.

Never had he been so virile; never had he felt so impotent. Just then a mad thought gripped him, he could be free of it. Of her!

He knew what he must do. He extended a shaking lordly hand and grasped the ivory handle of his Kindjal. Today it would not simply open correspondence. Today it would taste flesh and blood once more. The tapering blade glinted; one swift slash of the steel and it would be done. He would be severed from this madness.