Temptation is the name of the game as The Devil’s Knave continues towards damnation. I hope that you’re enjoying this slice of serialised gaslamp horror, with the conclusion now just a couple of months away.
If you’ve got books you’d like signing or you want to buy signed copies, I’ll be at book fairs in Birmingham, Bedford and Milton Keynes this month. Details in my Writer On The Road 2026 post — hope to see you there.
The Devil’s Knave
A gaslamp horror short story, continued.
William McKenzie has built a grand mausoleum in the heart of Victorian Liverpool and laid plans to beat the devil at his own game when the ultimate deadline arrives. There’s still time to indulge his twin vices: gambling and women, at Hettie’s new palace of pleasure.
Catch up on the first six chapters of The Devil’s Knave at www.alexanderlane.co.uk/thedevilsknave and use the password badbadbilly to enter.
Chapter 7. 1851: The Temptation
McKenzie missed the rough characters of Hettie’s old place but he had to admit that his investment had elevated her to an altogether classier establishment. At the very least, his fellow clientele now shared his taste in wine and admired the cellar that the club maintained on his behalf.
“Take a seat, Mr McKenzie, it’s been too long.” As a girl collected his coat, McKenzie noted that Hettie had been sure to pick one who met his tastes. He would save that diversion for later.
“Business steals me to the Continent too often, Hettie, but it is always for your hospitality that I yearn.”
“Well, it’s grand to have you back and Mr Tully, too. A shame about the fog on the streets tonight but we’re not so far from the docks and it is October now.”
“I like to think that you can take Hettie out of the docks, but you can’t take the docks out of Hettie.”
“Well, if you find this place too fancy, my eldest’s keeping the old place now. I’m sure she’d find you a table and a girl or two, if that’s what you fancy. I made sure there’s one or two of your bottles in a safe place only she knows.”
McKenzie had observed Hettie’s stable as he’d entered, those who were not already working. “I have no doubt that your girls are as talented, willing and pliable as ever, with the additional pleasure of being clean and healthy now.”
He’d always enjoyed putting the emphasis on willing and pliable, and the slight twitch it brought to Hettie’s brow. His time away had not dulled the pleasure. “Always willing for our biggest investor.” Another of the girls placed a bottle of wine in Hettie’s hands, still dusty from its time in his reserve. He nodded and she began to uncork it. “Were you straight off the boat to us or did you stop in Grove Street?”
“Grove Street can wait. The lady of the house knows her place in the order of things by now.” McKenzie was surprised that Hettie had mentioned his wife, even tangentially, but this venue demanded more civilised conversation. After six months of Sarah’s company around Europe, continually expecting his presence and worrying over his gout, he was glad to have seen her take a separate carriage as they departed the boat.
The cork made a light pop as Hettie pulled it. “And will anyone be joining us? Mr Tully or your brother?”
“Mr Tully has business to attend to and I hardly expect Edward to join me here, no offence to your fine establishment.”
Hettie leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, making an obvious effort to soften her normal accent. “Don’t want to be a gossip, sir, but Edward has taken care of your investment from time to time, if you take my meaning. I should not be surprised to see him.”
“Then it will be a pleasant surprise to enjoy his company, for both of us, I imagine. Until then, I would welcome some company at the table.”
“I’m sure there’ll be some gentlemen eager to play a few hands with Mr William McKenzie, saviour of Liverpool’s greatest thoroughfare.”
“And I shall not begrudge you the premium they pay for the introduction.” He allowed her a smile that said it was the least he could do for the personal liberties she had indulged.
“Oh, you’ve always been a sound lad to me, Mac.” This was too informal an address, but he was minded to excuse it as a sign of her affection.
The merchants and businessmen that Hettie brought to the table reminded him of fellow travellers aboard ship, obsequiously delighted to sit at the Captain’s Table. They treated him with the same reverence as his rough-handed workers in Hettie’s old place, though with such covetous glances to his favourite wine that he was forced to share it for appearances. As the evening drew on and his winnings grew, McKenzie took a cigar from his waistcoat and looked about the table for a light.
“Allow me, sir.” Her voice fell on his ears like silk and he turned to find her appearance doing the same to his eyes. Rich colours and fine cloth combined the height of contemporary fashion with a revealing cut more suited to a Parisian music hall. She leaned against the table at a distance only appropriate for a woman working in a place such as Hettie’s, but with the poise of one who was not paid for her time pleasuring the clientele. Older than the girls and boys he typically took, that was certain, but dark-haired and slender fitted his type, and she radiated a confidence that he would enjoy breaking.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, my dear. What’s your name?” He glanced towards Hettie, who maintained a discreet watch on the table to ensure that his needs were met. The presence of this woman, rather than one of Hettie’s own, attracted no displeasure. She was an intriguing curiosity.
“Madeline, sir. I’m back in the city not long myself.” She lifted the cigar from his grasp and sniffed the length with a relish that made him twitch in anticipation. A small blade glinted between her fingers and she cut the end with a relish that stilled him as fast. The blade disappeared with a flick of her fingertips that he found impossible to follow.
“That accent, I cannot place it.”
“Oh, I’ve been everywhere. France, Spain, you learn all manner of tricks when travelling.” She placed the cigar between red-painted lips, a smile playing across her face, and seemed to conjure a match between her fingers. McKenzie was about to warn her that these new things could be dangerous, but she struck the match and carried it without fear towards her face as the pyrotechnic chemicals flared and subsided. She filled her lungs and McKenzie found himself captivated as she held the smoke and released it above his head without a hint of discomfort. She handed him the lit cigar, making a point to wipe the ring of red lipstick from the moist tip.
“Thank you, Madeline. Will you sit?” He wasn’t certain that the chair beside him had been empty before she arrived, but it was vacant now.
She slid into the seat, crossing her legs to flatter his gaze with the high cut of her skirts. Without asking, she took the bottle, topped up his glass and poured for herself, then gestured to the cards dealt for him. “I would love to watch you play.”
“I am sure that desire is mutual.”
“Let us see if you earn that prize.”
***
You’ll find Chapter 8. 1851: The Promise at www.alexanderlane.co.uk/thedevilsknave. Use the password badbadbilly to enter.
Indie books for September 2026
Buy a book and support independent self-published authors.
FREE eBOOK: The Celestial Conflicts Of A Warrior’s Journey by Graham Burnett
Welcome To The Unofficial Hypothetical Sequel To The 1999 Classic Movie Of Fight Club. A tale of celestial conflicts through combat sports.
Twenty-seven years have passed since the world was irrevocably altered by an irreversible, devastating event—an upheaval so profound that it shattered the very fabric of society.
What had once been a civilization of certainty and order was transformed into a realm ruled by ambiguity and chaos, where the celestial spheres that govern fate and fortune shifted ominously, heralding a tempest of unforeseen challenges. In the shadow of these celestial upheavals, the fabric of existence frayed, leaving in its wake a world where warriors emerged, each one facing trials that tested the limits of their strength, resolve, and spirit.
In this era of uncertainty, we encounter a certain warrior, a beacon of hope in a world teetering on the brink of chaos, yet he carries the weight of the past—a past that whispers tales of sorrow but glory, that echoes the pains of loss and anguish that even this warrior does not yet completely comprehend.
Murder by Munchausen: When Androids Dream of Murder by M.T. Bass
Androids hacked into hitmen. A murderer tapping the past for inspiration. Can a cop’s old-school ways end the slayings before the next body drops?
“…packed with action and unexpected developments…fast-paced, entertaining…” —Kirkus Reviews.
After Jake shoots and kills a murder suspect who turns out to be the son of a powerful city councilman, he finds himself demoted to the Artificial Crimes Unit, tracking down androids hacked and programmed to be hitmen.
When his case of an “extra-judicial” divorce settlement takes a nasty turn with DNA from a hundred-year-old murder in Boston and a signature that harkens back to the very first serial killer ever in London, Jake finds himself tangled up in the brutal slayings of prostitutes being investigated by his former Robbery/Homicide partner, Maddie–who is now his lover.
“It might not make sense, but the beloved Media tags it ‘Murder by Munchausen.’ For a price, there are hackers out there who will reprogram a synthoid to do your dirty work. The bad news: no fingerprints or DNA left at the crime scene. The good news—at least for us—is that they’re like missiles: once they hit their target, they’re usually as harmless as empty brass. The trick is to get them before they melt down their core OS data, so you can get the unit into forensics for analysis and, hopefully, an arrest.”[excerpt from Murder by Munchausen]
Artificial Intelligence? Fuhgeddaboudit!
Artificial Evil has a name…Munchausen.
Creepy Tales For The Spooky Season
Bone-chilling stories. Unsettling twists. If you’re looking for perfect reads for dark nights, look no further than Creepy Tales For The Spooky Season, a curated collection of horror, thrillers and crime.
Mentions