Beast Hunter
an excerpt

The log fire beamed warmth and light around the room. Magnus sat with his feet up, warming his toes in front of the flames while sipping Irish cream. Shadows created by the fire flickered along the rows of books which lined the wall. The old tomes, which filled the room completely, did not belong to Magnus; they belonged to his father, Ludo Reinhart III, who loved to read. Recently, Ludo had spent an increasing amount of time asleep in bed. Being at such an old age as ninety was taking its toll on him.
Magnus frequently sat staring into the lively flames, listening to the crackling of the wood and the flashing sparks. Only one room in the house was warm; the others were filled with a chill, as they were seldom used. Magnus and his father tended not to lean to the social side of life; holding a dinner party was their idea of Hell.
The house was Victorian, and the rooms were spacious and had very high ceilings, which was unusual for a house in the centre of London; it had been in the family four generations. The place possessed a feeling of refinement, which had been worn down over the years. Some of the intricate wallpaper had started to peel away from the wall. Varnish was stripped off the banister where hands had rubbed against it while travelling between floors thousands of times over the years.
The Arumina which he had caught a couple of days previously was now away from his mind. As soon as Magnus had arrived back in London, he dropped the bird off to its new owner, Lord Lennen. He never did care to think about the creatures after the job was completed. They were just cargo to be picked up and dropped off.
As the moon rose in the sky and the stars began to flicker in the heavens, Magnus went upstairs to see his father who had been asleep all day.
His father’s bedroom was awfully cold and the night had bought a slight damp into the air. The only source of warmth in the room was the hot water bottle in the large iron bed, which was covered by a thick patchwork quilt. As Magnus opened the door his father stirred.
“How are you feeling father?”
“I am feeling increasingly tired. I tried to get up today, but without any luck.”
“Maybe tomorrow you will have enough strength to go for a walk.”
“Maybe.”
There was an awkward silence which confirmed that they each knew Ludo would never walk again. This was his final home. His white hair was thin on his head. His pale skin was loose on his bones, like elastic which had stretched too far. Cheeks were gaunt and his eyes were far back in his sockets. This was the face of a dying man.
Ludo’s hands lay splayed on the quilt as he was sat up in bed; his fingers were like sticks. Veins stood out in stark contrast.
Ludo broke the silence “Magnus…it will soon be time for me to leave you. I do not want to live as a prisoner in my own home.”
Magnus’ imagination flashed, comparing the Arumina Bird trapped in the net prison to his father trapped in the quilted prison of his bed.
“Father, your ninety-first birthday is in one month.”
“Indeed. That shall be my final milestone, from there I will let go of myself and leave this planet.”
“If you wish so” Magnus said solemnly.
“Oh, it is my time son. I can’t be hanging around here forever. I need to move on.”
Magnus didn’t like talking about it. He had locked away the past and thrown away the key to his memories.
“Goodnight father.”
Magnus closed the door and returned to the fireside. He couldn’t imagine losing his father after all these years. Ludo had been more than a father to him; he had been everything since Magnus’ mother, Beatrice, had died in a fire when he was nine. They were staying at her sister’s house. Ludo was away on business. The memory was opening the pages of a book in Magnus’ mind, unfolding scraps of paper. Torn pieces of newspaper cuttings were re-joining.
‘Goodnight’ and a kiss to the forehead were the final memories of Beatrice. The last smell of floral perfume, sweet but not sickly. She was a woman in her thirties, with a refined, but caring face. Her eyes showed kindness. The light went out.
The words echoed in Magnus’ ears. Darkness. The smell of burning. Red light flooded the room through the doorway which had opened with a bang. A man entered; he wore a long brown coat and a green tie. His thick black hair flopped over one eye as he stumbled towards the bed. Magnus heard shouting but couldn’t recall the words. He sat up in bed and stared past the man into the smoky hallway. The man grabbed young Magnus and proceeded to open the window. He placed Magnus on the roof below the window before climbing out himself. About ten people were on the lawn shouting to them. There was a bench placed upright against a wall which allowed them to get off the roof onto the ground. Magnus remembered looking up at the house; flames were poking through the roof at the top of the house, and the whole of the southern wing was alight. A siren was screaming in the distance. Magnus was just stood there staring at the fire.
After the memory had ended, Magnus found himself looking straight into the fire in the hearth. He decided it was getting late and made his way upstairs to bed.

The sun was rising over London through the clear blue sky. Everyone seemed to be out and about. The sound of horse’s hooves against cobbles and cart wheels turning broke the silence on Wimpole Street as Magnus strode along with his green frockcoat flapping in the breeze. He was lucky enough to look good in a variety of clothes; when he was out hunting in his long brown trench coat he looked elegant, yet rugged at the same time, his hair flopped over the side of his face as if he was a messy school boy yet he still retained sophistication. When he wore his green frockcoat in the city he looked like a respectable gentleman, such as a barrister or a doctor. Few people knew the truth about his profession.
The market came into view across the street and Magnus thought about how his father used to visit the market once a week; he knew all the vendors by name.
The market was thriving, as everyone bought their supplies there. Mostly servants would buy the produce for the house, but not everyone could afford to pay full time staff; Magnus only paid for old Mrs Spofford to cook his father’s meals.
Magnus enjoyed getting out in the fresh morning air. Dew was still glistening on the grass and the sunshine was making the white buildings shine with an ethereal glow.
The first stall Magnus came to was selling fruit.
“Hello sir, what can I do you for?” asked the short, bald man.
“Five apples please” replied Magnus.
“Tuppence, Sir” the man gave Magnus a paper bag containing the fruit and he received the correct amount.
A few minutes later, Magnus was walking past a flower stall when he was accosted by a boy, who looked to be around twelve years of age.
“Sir!” shouted the child
Magnus turned to look at the youngster, who had blonde hair which was in dire need of a cut.
“Are you Mister Reinhart?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Lord Lennen requests that you visit him immediately, Sir.”
“Why? I don’t care for being dragged all that way for a cup of tea and a sponge cake.”
“He didn’t say, Sir. He only said that it was of the uttermost importance.
“Really?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well, tell his Lordship that I shall be with him after lunch.”
“There is a carriage waiting for you, Sir.”
“Oh, alright then.”
Magnus followed the child through the crowded market at a fast pace, as the child was darting through people, and this made him tricky to follow, but Manus managed to keep his eye on the young lad.
They arrived at a large black carriage, which was adorned with gold decoration. It was pulled by two black horses, and there was a large man sitting atop the carriage. He was balding and the grey hairs around the sides of his head made it look like a shiny egg in a nest. His rosy cheeks suggested a jolly demeanour, although this was far from the truth.
“Get in” the man grunted.
Magnus did not reply as he stepped up into the carriage after the boy had scrambled up onto the back step, where the footmen would usually stand.
The journey through the city took what seemed like hours. Magnus was staring through the window onto the streets as they drove through at a canter. The affluent areas looked regal in the sunshine, which bounced off the glossy railings and brass doorknobs into the eyes of passers-by.
The areas of poverty were dull in comparison, sun seemed to hide here as children ran in the street and people sat in open doorways waiting for luck to come their way.
When the carriage reached countryside the air seemed lighter, and not as damp. There were an abundance of birds on the country lanes, and they flew across the carriage’s path, as if they were daring each other to take a bigger risk, although each time they made it safely to the hedgerow on the opposite side.
The carriage slowed down as it approached large, ornate, black and gold gates, which were flanked by two huge pillars, each of which had a canine gargoyle perched on top. Their faces were twisted into snarls and Magnus found them particularly unnerving each time he passed between them.