“I was approached by the Company in the early spring of seventeen fifty-five. To my surprise, their board of directors were well acquainted with the existence of jinn. I have no doubt their agents abroad had their fair share of run-ins with the unseen. My job was simple: use my knowledge and power to expand the territories of the Company.
“I set sail for India alongside Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Clive. By this point in his career, Clive had already achieved incredible feats of warfare over the previous decade. Still, these would pale compared to those he achieved when I was in his service.
“We arrived in Madras to find the Company’s holdings to the north in a sorry state. Fort William had been captured by the tyrannical Nawab of Bengal, who subjected his British prisoners of war to conditions violating every modicum of moral decency. With a righteous fury, we made our way to Calcutta and, from the jaws of defeat, liberated the city from the tyrant’s grasp.
“By this point in our expedition, the Seven Years’ War was well underway against our arch-rivals: the French. I remember the time King Richard and I spent fighting Philip Augustus with great fondness and jumped at the chance to wage war against our perpetual nemesis. Together, we travelled up the Hooghly and laid siege to their colony of Chandernagore.
“With the French out of the picture, we turned our attention back towards the tyrannical Nawab and dealt him a whopping defeat at Plassey. In time, the entirety of Bengal was liberated from his despotism, and we soon placed our own puppet on the throne. Clive was made commander-in-chief of Fort William while I returned home with the satisfaction I had brought honour and glory to king and country.
“You may think my motivation was purely economic, but the truth is I did it out of sheer love for my people. I have lived amongst this island nation from its very inception. In time, I had grown to love the British like a father does his children. I was prepared to do anything to help them become the greatest nation amongst the Beni Adam. You can imagine my heartbreak then when I was betrayed by those I had dedicated my life to nurturing.
“As time went on, our rule in Bengal was cemented, and I returned to Calcutta in seventeen seventy. To my dismay, the state of the country was far worse than it had ever been under the rule of the tyrannical Nawab. The streets were filled with starvation, entire towns were deserted as mothers sold their children into slavery, and vile bandits stalked the countryside looking for an easy score. I was appalled by the turmoil I helped create.
“Yes, it was true I wanted Britannia to rule the waves, and I was even willing to do it at the expense of other nations, but the scenes I witnessed during that great famine etched themselves into the deep rifts of my conscience. We were meant to bring peace to a region long ravaged by ceaseless war. Yet, we depredated the land for our own senseless greed.
“Upon my return to Albion, I left the Company, but of course, they were unwilling to let their most valuable asset leave so easily. The directors begged me to stay. After all, I was the real determinant behind Clive’s success and had turned the Company from a group of mercantile holdings into a fully-fledged sovereign state. However, the horrors of famine were a burden too cumbersome for my spirit.
“A month after I left their employ, the Company, on the brink of financial ruin, began sending envoys to my door, each of whom I turned away. Then, one day, Clive, now major-general, paid me a visit. He had with him a wooden box, which I assumed contained some sort of farewell gift. Owing to the fact we had served together on the battlefield, I welcomed him into my residence and poured him a glass of ale. He begged me one last time to return to the Company’s employ. I refused.
“With great remorse, he opened the box to reveal a golden oil lamp carved with emerald runes written in the old tongue. Many centuries ago, I had heard tales of such vessels built by the Beni Adam to imprison jinn. How he came to possess one such vessel, I do not know. What I do know is it is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy, for it is a fate I was subjected to for over sixty years.
“For decades, I was bound to the will of the Company, forced to do their bidding. I was compelled to commit acts of great evil for the pursuit of wealth, the most wicked of human vices. The only respite I had was the confines of that abhorrent prison.
“My torture continued until, one day, Lord Auckland required my usage in the summer of eighteen thirty-six. He was concerned about recent complications in neighbouring Afghanistan and compelled me to intrude upon the heavens to ascertain the trajectory of future events.
“There is a reason this act is forbidden amongst the jinn. To intrude upon the heavens is no small feat, and it almost cost me my life. I had made it as far as the gates before I was struck down by a blazing comet, reducing me to my current ruin.
“As painful as it was, it did free me from my servitude. I’ve spent the last forty years wandering the streets of London, attempting to bring an end to the Company. I even travelled back to India for a short time and instigated the Sepoy Mutiny. As it stands, the Company is still operating, albeit in a vastly vestigial state, but I fear they are in the process of attempting one last grab at power right here in London.”
“Well, that was most certainly a lively tale,” jested Mr Daim, the only laugh being those of the crickets nestled amongst the Temperate House’s collection of flora.
“This is no laughing matter, Mr Daim. If their scheme succeeds, it could spell the end of the jinn,” warned Spring-Heeled Jack.
“You still haven’t explained what happened with the body we found in the East End,” chimed in Captain Robertson with a renewed interest in the conversation, which was slowly dispensing with his fear of the ghastly ghul.
“That’s a good point,” seconded Mr Daim, “I was just about to ask you the same thing. What happened in White Chappal?”
“Whitechapel,” corrected Captain Robertson.
“What happened in Whitechapel?”
“That poor man worked as a clerk at the India House and had some information regarding the Company’s nefarious plans, reaching all the way to the top. It was supposed to be an easy, straightforward exchange, but we were intercepted. Just when he was about to give me names, someone attacked him.”
“Did you catch a glimpse of the attacker?” probed Mr Daim.
“No, but he was most certainly a Beni Adam, dressed in all black.”
Mr Daim wasn’t sure what to make of Spring-Heeled Jack’s claims. For one thing, they didn’t explain how the body came to be so mutilated. Spring-Heeled Jack seemed the most obvious suspect, given his menacing claws. However, that conclusion seemed to fit a little too easily for Mr Daim’s taste. After all, who’s to say a Beni Adam didn’t take a knife to the body to make it look like the work of a ghul?
“What were you doing at the bottling factory?”
“I was following up on a tip I received from an insider about a new contract the Company had signed. They had ordered a batch of golden lamps studded with emerald inscriptions written in the same old tongue which confined me to my prison. Mr Daim, I am convinced the Company may be planning to do what they did to me, but on an industrial scale. And I have good reason to believe you have been lured to Albion as their first victim.”
This revelation was met with scepticism from Mr Daim. There was no way the Company had the means to embark on such a venture. At that very moment, Captain Robertson came to a guilt-ridden realisation.
“Gentlemen, I fear I’ve made an egregious error.”
All at once, the western wall of the Temperate House burst into a thousand shards of angry glass nicking at Captain Robertson’s skin. Chaos filled the empty air as policemen stormed through the thick jungle, firing sporadically at the jinn.
Captain Robertson was caught in the erratic barrage as a stray bullet collided with his clavicle. He instantly buckled over in agony, his consciousness receding. He just about spotted Commissioner Henderson, through the smoke of gun barrels, giving orders to secure Mr Daim, who lay on the ground in a befuddled heap.
Upon seeing Captain Robertson’s predicament, Commissioner Henderson ordered a medic to be brought forth to tend to his wounds. Once he was turned on his back, the last thing Captain Robertson saw was Spring-Heeled Jack perched atop the jubaea tree. Within an instant, he was gone. And within the next, so was Captain Robertson.
To be continued…
This is part of a larger series called Midnights in London