Sebastian Gloom

Gloom unmasked.

     At the same time that Inspector Bailey was grilling Father Anthony in his own church, Sebastian Gloom was leaving his museum in his steam wheelchair, accompanied by Benson, to see a contact that had provided useful information in the past.

     The young man wasn't one of the clairvoyants able to speak to the souls of the deceased. There were, so far as Gloom knew, none of these exceptional people within a hundred miles of Manchester, and they tended to be recluses, rarely if ever venturing from their homes. Consulting with them required a train journey, usually followed by a lengthy ride across rough, unmade roads, something that the investigator only did when there was an exceptionally urgent reason, such as a life at stake.

     There was no great urgency in the case of Father Anthony, though, and even if there had been, the church was always on the lookout for such people, deeming communication with the dead to be one of the worst possible sins. They named them witches and warlocks and arranged fatal accidents for them, while wishing for the return of what they called ‘The Good Old Days’ when they could be publicly burned at the stake. Putting a stop to this practice was the only significant victory the secular authorities had achieved against the church in the past hundred years.

     With this threat hanging over them, Gloom could not have visited any of them so long as he was being watched no matter what the urgency, but there were a few lesser talents around that the church tolerated, suspecting that their dreams and visions were given to them by angels, both fallen and otherwise, for the guidance of man. Timothy Grenfell was one such man, and Gloom knew that the church already knew all about him. The worst that would happen to the young man was that agents of the church would visit him later to make him reveal what he'd said to the investigator. Since Gloom was at something of a dead end in his investigation, therefore, he thought it might be worth visiting him, to see if he could point him in the direction of some new leads.

     As they left the museum, he looked across at the cafe to see to whom the church had given the task of watching them today. Taking note of the frequency with which they changed shifts, and of the total number of people who took turns watching him, would tell him how important and dangerous they felt he was, which in turn would tell him how close to a vital, incriminating clue he was getting. It was, he thought with a smile of amusement, a bit like searching a room while someone told him that he was getting hotter, or getting colder. He was a little disturbed, therefore, to see that the table they normally used was empty. Had they decided he wasn't worth watching any more? Did that mean they no longer considered him a threat?

     Then he saw a team of road workers just a little distance away. One of them was digging a hole in the road with a pickaxe while another was smoking a pipe and looking around at the passers by with what he was trying to pretend was bored disinterest. Watching him from out of the corner of his eye, Gloom thought he looked like one of the men who had been in the cafe yesterday. He had the same splendid moustache, connecting with parts of a beard on either side of a shaved chin, and the same bulbous red nose. This was a common look among Manchester’s working classes, though, and so as the steam wheelchair drew closer he tried to make out the other features of his face. At that moment the man turned to look on his direction, and before Gloom could look away their eyes met. It was indeed the same man, Gloom saw, and when he realised that he'd been spotted the man flinched guiltily and looked away. It was too late, though, and Gloom cursed under his breath. The watcher knew he'd spotted them, and would report the fact to their master. Gloom had lost a valuable handle on his enemies.

     “Is everything all right, Sir?” said Benson, sensing his master's frustration.

     “Fine,” the investigator replied. “Just got a cramp in my leg, that's all.”