PROMETHEUS AND BUTTER observed silently as Constable Jennings pulled away a wooden board from the disused bakery's door frame, and made his way through the rear entrance in Montague Street, about half-a-mile from the police station.
'It seems the constable did indeed lead us somewhere. The only question is where?' Prometheus toyed with his beard thoughtfully as he eyed the boarded-up windows of the bakery. 'I wonder what awaits us once we go inside, lad.'
Butter froze. 'We are going inside?' he asked. 'Are you sure that is wise?'
'Probably not,' Prometheus smiled. 'But if it makes ye feel any better, why don't I go in first?'
'If you are expecting me to argue, you will be disappointed,' said Butter with a gulp. 'Remember, if we die, no one can tell the boss about this plot.'
'Well, I s'pose we'd best not die then, eh?' Prometheus said, with a smirk hidden under his beard.
The bakery had long since submitted to disrepair, and the windows were covered with wooden boards. A huge chimney left unused for over ten years rose from the centre of the premises, and its once proud silhouette breached the district's skyline like a memorial to what once was. In its heyday, the bakery was an essential part of the commercial life of Crawditch, with the Thames bringing barges of grain and the many mills over the water in Whitehall, but the present landowners had cancelled any attempts at restoration, and had stripped everything from the building. Whereas once hundreds of skilled workers busied from place to place inside, now only the rats inhabited the halls, workrooms and warehouses.
Prometheus pushed his bulk through the tight gap in the same wooden boards that the far more slender Jennings had entered. He and Butter found themselves at the foot of a steep stone staircase. Careful not to dislodge any of the debris that littered the steps, they made their way to the top. Prometheus looked around what appeared to be an office, and a massive bathroom area. Most of the sinks were missing from the walls, and exposed pipes were entwined like handfuls of worms everywhere they looked.
Butter tugged on Prometheus's sleeve and motioned towards a room not far away. They could hear a man's voice. Although he was unable to tell who it was, Prometheus stepped forward first. Butter stood glued to the spot, looking around him cautiously, and feeling petrified. He stooped down and picked up a crooked metal pipe from the dirt-littered ground. With a little bit more confidence, feeling his fingers gripping the pipe, he skipped lightly after Prometheus.
The voice was getting louder. A distinct London accent could be heard, and Butter identified it as their quarry-Constable Jennings. Prometheus and Butter waited outside the door from where the voice emanated, poised to enter. Butter shifted his grip on the metal pipe and looked up at Prometheus, who nodded down at him.
'After three,' Prometheus whispered. 'One…two…'
'Is this a private game or can anyone join in, Miller?' chirped a voice from behind them. Both Butter and Prometheus spun around to face a blade-wielding Tom Hawkspear, just as Constable Jennings wrenched the door open from the other side. 'Well, well, well. Face to face, at last, eh?' taunted Hawkspear, stepping closer to Prometheus.
'Tom…what are you playing at?' the giant said slowly.
'This? I call it fun. Y'know, Miller…when they told me that I could play along wi'ye as much as I liked, but not kill ye, I nearly didn't take this job,' Hawkspear said. 'I wanted ye dead for what ye did to Lily and Sean. And then the Bishop explained…ye were just the bait. A target for the police t'pin their sights on, leavin' me free t'maim an' kill as much as I liked, so I guess I should thank ye for it.'
Constable Jennings clapped his hands excitedly at the unfolding show in front of his very eyes. 'I should've sorted you out the moment we brung you in!' he said, aiming his pistol at Prometheus's head. 'Could've saved meself a lot of bother.'
Prometheus growled, his bearded face resembling a grizzly bear. Jennings gulped, and stepped back, deciding that perhaps he should leave the job of taunting the giant to Hawkspear.
'It's useless t'pull that face, Miller…your bullish posturin' ain't gonna help ye now. This is it for ye,' said Tom Hawkspear. 'Ye've got a knife and a pistol pointed at ye…and ye're such a big target, an'all. Hard t'miss, know what I mean?'
Prometheus grinned. 'Ye know the problem with ye boys?' he said, his bristling beard twitching as he spoke. 'Ye've got your weapons pointed at the wrong person.'
Constable Jennings had just about enough time to glance down before Butter lunged at his groin forcefully with the metal pole. Jennings hit the deck like a sack of potatoes, and Butter spun on his heels, glaring at Hawkspear.
The Irishman seemed unshaken by the loss of his comrade, and he lifted his blade into the air menacingly. 'Ye got lucky, ye little elf, but soon ye'll be just as dead as Miller will be!' he growled. 'But it ain't even a fair fight…I've got a blade here, y'know.'
Butter eyes narrowed into thin slits, flashed with a devilish spark. 'I can see that. It is very nice,' he said, as he pulled aside is jacket-displaying his tusk-handled knife nestled into his belt. 'But I have one of my own…and it is bigger than yours.'
Hawkspear's jaw dropped.
Prometheus took advantage of his confusion, and dived straight for him like a freight train, hitting the Irishman square in the chest at full force. Hawkspear's body slammed into the door frame, with Prometheus's sandwiching him. Forcing the circus strongman back with a swish of his knife, Hawkspear grabbed a handful of rubble and threw it with all his might. The cloud of thick dust and grit pelted Prometheus in the face, and he was temporarily blinded. Hawkspear grinned, and rose to his feet.
'I ain't as easy t'kill as that, Miller…I'm gonna carve one o'me crosses into her heart, just like I did yet wee girlfriend,' he said, and threw his weight towards Prometheus, this time slamming the blinded strongman into a wall on the opposite side of the landing. The wall crumbled like chalk as Prometheus's bulk and Hawkspear's force of will collided with it, and they both tumbled over the banisters of the staircase, landing in a crumpled heap of arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs.
Butter saw Jennings's focus was elsewhere, and he barged his weight into him, kicking the pistol out of his reach. He swung his elbow into the young constable's neck, and as the man went down, he reached into the constable's pockets, producing a pair of metal handcuffs. He swiftly snapped them on Jennings's wrists.
'Oi! What's your game?' whined Jennings.
'You are a policeman, you should be shamed,' Butter scolded.
'Shamed? Bloody 'ellfire! What kind of nutter are you? You're lecturin' me?'
'Hush up, constable, or my friend will rip your arms off,' Butter replied, hoisting the cuffed Jennings to his unsteady feet.
Prometheus and Hawkspear finally broke free of each other, but Hawkspear was up on his feet first, lashing out with his knife, slashing at the air to force Prometheus back. Again and again, Hawkspear sliced the air between them, but Prometheus never took his eyes from his opponent. As Prometheus stepped back, his heavy boots came into contact with a large stack of broken ceramic tiles, and he fell over backwards. Unable to hold onto anything, he tumbled head over heels down the small concrete steps that led to the outside. His weight shattered the dry, dead wood of the doors with ease, and Prometheus crashed down the steps into the bakery's yard. Hawkspear watched the giant's writhing frame as he lay stunned on the ground and leapt towards his prey, his greasy strands of black hair clinging to his forehead with grimy sweat. Hawkspear's knife was raised for the killing shot, and he lunged…
Prometheus flicked one eye open and smiled. In fights he rarely needed to employ tactics-his size and strength usually proved ample weapons-but with an enemy like Hawkspear, he had to use more than just his brawn. At the last possible moment, he side-stepped out of the way-as a large javelin of an iron pole pierced Hawkspear right through the stomach. The Irishman's howl of agony echoed around the ruins of the yard. The pole went right through the man; it smashed through Hawk-spear's spine, protruding from the other side of his back. Hawk-spear spat blood, trying frantically to catch his breath. He gripped the metal spear and tried to pull himself off-wailing with pain the whole time, but it was useless. The metal pole was embedded straight through him, pierced like a butterfly in an entomologist's collection.
'Ye…lucky bastard, Miller,' he said weakly.
'Ye know what they say about us Irish,' Prometheus said, dusting down his clothes. He walked unsteadily over to Hawkspear, the loose stones slipping from underneath his feet. 'Ye should have stayed in prison, Tommy…ye didn't deserve t'walk free for what ye did. Now…ye won't be walkin' anywhere.'
'I ain't dead yet,' Hawkspear said, his hair wringing with sweat. He spat a mouthful of dark-red blood in Prometheus's direction. 'Ye talk about me walkin' free? And what…about…ye, Miller? How comes…ye're the one who's allowed t'walk free, eh? If not for ye…me brother and sister…would still be alive.'
Prometheus grabbed Hawkspear's sodden hair, and wrenched it back furiously, the jar making the speared Irishman squeal anew in agony. 'Listen t'me, ye slimy piece of filth, don't ye dare try an' justify what ye did t'Lily-t'Twinkle, t'them others! Ye're going t'burn in hell for what ye've done, Tommy-I swear that.' He released Hawkspear's head roughly, causing the lank-haired Irishman's torso to slip further down the spear. His thick dark blood coated the pole like black treacle.
Just then, Butter and Jennings emerged from the bakery door and stepped out into the yard. Once Jennings saw Hawkspear's coughing and spluttering body speared through the guts, a dark, wet patch appeared on the front of his trousers.
'My God…is…is he dead?' Jennings gasped.
'Not yet,' confirmed Prometheus. 'But he soon will be…as will ye, lad.'
Jennings mewed like a newborn kitten, and wept into his hands, as Butter prodded him forwards with his elbow. The constable fell awkwardly onto the gravel at Prometheus's feet.
'I see you were victorious,' Butter said to Prometheus, eyeing Hawkspear's twitching form. 'Now what shall we do?'
Prometheus stared intently at his Inuit friend as if he had just spoken a foreign language to him. 'What do you mean "do"? We watch 'em die, of course.'
'Surely you cannot mean that?' asked Butter.
'Why can I not? It's nothin' less than they deserve, lad.'
Jennings's jaw trembled. 'I ain't like 'im over there! He's a bloody killer! Let me go…and I'll tell you what I know, eh? What d'you say?'
'Ye expect mercy, constable?' yelled Prometheus. 'If ye aided Hawkspear, yer as guilty as he is, so ye are…and ye'll die by his side.'
Butter's lithe form skipped across the loose shards of gravel, and clung to Prometheus's arm tightly. 'No, Prometheus, this is not right. These men should see justice…not revenge,' he appealed. 'We must see them delivered into law's grasp.'
Prometheus considered his small companion's words. He looked over at Hawkspear, his body shivering and fidgeting on the pole. He would so dearly love to see the man dead. For what he had done, not just to him, but to Lily and to Twinkle too…death was far too good for him. Butter was right; it was justice that they deserved.
'Mebbe ye're right, Butter, lad…' Prometheus gripped the impaled Irishman by the thigh and shoulder, and tensed his muscles. He bent his knees, and sneered into Hawkspear's face. 'Brace yerself, Tommy…this is going t'hurt,' he said, as he hoisted Hawkspear into the air. The ripping and slurping of his body as it was pulled from the pole was inaudible over the sound of Hawks-pear's scream.
Prometheus lifted the man clear of the pole and saw the gaping wound-as big as his fist-glistening in the moonlight. He knew that it meant only one thing-a slow, wretched death in agonising pain. Before long, Hawkspear would be begging for a quick release that would never come. That was perhaps the greatest act of justice.
'Come on, Butter,' he said with a satisfied smile. 'Let's get these two mongrels back to the station. And if Hawkspear dies on th'way, the rats'll get a feast t'night-if they can stomach his filth.'