The Secret Stead is the pen name of a UK-based writer and
This novella contains scenes dealing with violence, profanity, sexual and drug abuse, which may cause some readers distress. Please be warned. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. It is a work of cautionary fiction.
An Infernal Duet | (This is the evil in all that is done under the sun — Ecclesiastes 9:3)
  Chapt 5 | Contents | Chapt 7   |
erek's kitchen was filled with people.
A meeting was being held at Camelot. Again.
It was the unusual in very unusual times.
Gathered around his round kitchen table, his mother sat with Caleb. They didn't look at each other. Caleb's face was pockmarked with bruises. Danny B and the other two knights from the Racehound Park were kneeling by the front door. They had been stripped, whipped and suitably crucified for their failings.
Derek had purchased a few more dog collars, similar to Caleb's, for his new trainees, and they wore this around their necks. But there was an unsubtle difference to these collars. They acted like a taser, sending electric currents to the wearer at the touch of a button.
Derek's hands and knuckles reddened and bruised, held that button now. Every time his mother spoke of their incompetencies, he would press the button.
Long. Hard. Then even longer. Until the loyal knights began frothing at the mouth. Danny B was even frothing out of his backside, but Derek couldn't possibly know that was the residue crack coming out of his crack.
Or possibly he did know.
You couldn't tell by just looking at him.
"B-but at least we did that Irish fucker's pub-- Sorry, Danny," Caleb said, "but that went off, alright, right B?"
Danny B didn't look up. He didn't speak. He just leaked.
Derek's mother tried to mask a look of disdain. "I thought we were not ever going to mention that, Derek?"
He nodded. And pressed on the button again. Long. Hard. Then even longer.
"Please, please," Caleb called out suddenly, despite his instinctual tendency to shut up for his own good. "It's that Devil you should be doing this to. Not us."
Derek pressed the button, and kept his finger on it. As the loyal knights frothed and writhed, kicking against the front door, Derek asked Caleb, "Why didn't you brick him?"
Caleb bowed his head. Derek's mother looked at him, finally.
But before anyone could speak, Dara kicked the front door down.
It was more for expediency than anything. There was no door frame that he fit through standing straight, and Dara always stood tall. He bent for no man or frame.
So, he kicked this one in.
Derek's door cracked into two, and its top half fell off its hinge. Dara ripped the bottom half from its frame with his bare hands.
Derek's writhing collared pets slid into the kitchen under the steam of their own froth.
"Good evening," he said politely. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
Derek's mother had given out a spluttered scream as the door caved in, but she quickly composed herself when she saw it was Dara. That she was halfwitted out of her mind would not have been obvious to the casual onlooker.
Derek really was his mother's son.
Derek on the other hand, had lost his cool. It was all too much. He got up to protest, and Dara punched him hard on the nose. Everyone in the kitchen, and possibly in the street, heard it crack. He fell backwards on the table, which cracked in two, to compliment the front door.
Dara's interior designing skills left a lot to be desired, but it got the job done.
He looked around the scene before him. "I think sir, you've mistaken me for one of the boys you regularly abuse in here."
"Oh my Gob, my nobse!" Derek gave a high pitched wail, and clutching his bleeding appendage, managed to scramble up and run into the sanctuary of his bedroom.
"W-what are you doing?" Derek's mother asked, palpitating between each syllable.
"If you give me one moment ma'am, I'll explain," he said.
He looked at Caleb, who had fallen off his chair and was staring up at Dara as though he'd been visited by the one, true God.
Now, this was a Daddy, with a capital D, he thought.
"Which ones?" Dara asked.
"S-sorry?"
"Don't make me ask again. There were two of you who planted the bomb in my mate's pub."
"How- do- you-?"
But Caleb didn't get to finish his sentence. Dara had picked him up by his hair, and lifted him off the ground. Caleb's scalp burned. He squealed. And squealed.
"We didn't know," Derek's mother said, pushing down the desire to see Dara swing Caleb like a pendulum out of their lives forever. "We didn't know, Mr O'Malley."
Dara dropped Caleb unceremoniously, who landed on his back, in his usual position of a night.
"Well, you know now, ma'am. I want the ones who planted the bomb. And that's for starters."
"I don't know," Derek's mother said, but with her eyes she tried to indicate Caleb. Kill two birds with one stone, she thought.
But Dara not understanding, shrugged his broad shoulders, and looking at the loyal knights on the floor picked up Danny B, who had finally found his voice to protest. "Hey, Finn, it's me, Danny. Hey!"
Dara's expression turned from anger to disgust. "What would your Ma say if she saw you like this, boy?"
At that, Danny B began to cry. Dara dropped him next to Caleb.
The other two knights had remained frozen, making no effort to move. Dara picked them both up and threw them through the kitchen window, never to move again.
Our Father. Amen.
That was one loyal knight's last thought before his head caved in, in a similar fashion to Derek's front door.
Derek's mother screamed loudly, this time. And screamed again, louder.
But no one came to help. No police sirens shattered the eerie silence of the street. No resident opened their door. No window opened, even out of curiosity.
"I've come to tell you, ma'am, that this reign of--" Dara looked around at the havoc he had caused in Derek's kitchen, "--this Camelot, your King Arthur and his boys are over. It was over the minute your son's friends decided to try and kill my friend."
"That wasn't the intention, Mr O'Malley. You must believe me. Please," Derek's mother lied.
Dara had never raised his hand to a woman. He never thought he could even come close to it. Now, he knew, under the right circumstances, anything was possible.
His hands twitched. But he remained calm. His instincts had been right about this pair. Events had proven him right, but in a way even he couldn't have imagined.
"Tell your friends in those high places who signed off on this that the Bull of Blacklion is coming for them. And that includes your son and his fuckboy. When I get to learn exactly what went on here, and I will, I won't be responsible for what happens."
Derek's mother stopped her screaming at his threats. She sounded indignant. "But we paid for your services!"
"Your bomb destroyed the tools of my trade. I keep it as recompense. Be grateful that's all I take, ma'am."
Dara turned around to leave, but stopped to look back at her. "Why did you decide to hire me to kill your neighbour, if you have so many resources? I know what it says in the brief. But what did this Devil do to you?"
"He is a violent paedophile. He raped my son's friend over there." This time she clearly indicated to Caleb, who nodded in agreement.
Dara's hands twitched again. "I'll tell you why, shall I ma'am? It's the same reason that idiot couldn't brick him. You all want him dead because he's your conscience, but if you kill him, you know you'll kill yourselves. So, you chose me not to dirty your own hands."
Derek's mother tried to stand. "Please, we can sort something out. I can buy your friend a new pub."
"Aye, I'm sure you could. But his answer would be the same as mine."
Dara walked out of the shattered hole that used to be Derek's front door.
"With all respect, you can stick your offer where the sun doesn't shine."
ara strode back down the steps.
The Queen of Sheba had run off screaming when the loyal knights had come flying through the air to land a few inches from their feet.
Baba Mamba smiled slowly, and looked up at Dara. "Cleaned up the rats in the kitchen, did you?"
"I've only just started," Dara said. "I'm coming for your bosses. You better warn them, when I find those responsible, their blood will be on these steps."
"I think you just did," Baba Mamba replied. "My bosses don't get involved in mischief like this."
"Time will tell, but know this, the reign of King Arthurs in Downland is over. There are no kings on the street, only servants. The street is king."
Baba Mamba nodded, "I've begun to figure that out."
Dara stretched out his hand to Baba Mamba. "I get a sense of people. I was right to shake your hand. Will you shake it now again?"
"I won't shake the hands that kill Dante," he said, suddenly. He didn't know what had come over him.
Dara grinned. "Then shake mine. No harm will come to Dante while I'm here."
Baba Mamba grinned back. He took Dara's hand, but turned it into a fist, and gave him a fist punch. "This is how we shake hands around these parts."
Dara returned the gesture, and Baba Mamba felt his knuckles crack. Resisting the urge to clasp his hand in pain, he asked, "How long you gonna be staying?"
"Until I clean up this Camelot, and find the real people responsible for the Black Lion bombing."
"How you gonna do that?"
"You follow the bomb. And you follow the money. Somebody had to build it. Somebody had to pay for it."
"It had nothing to do with me. I used to know everything that happened here at one time, but now--"
Dara understood. "The crown passed up there. Do you want it back?"
Baba Mamba shook his head. "You said it yourself, there are no kings, only servants. I'm just a poor servant of the street, looking to make a dollar."
Dara clapped him on the back, and Baba Mamba felt his knees about to give way, but he maintained his composure.
He felt sorry for anyone who felt the full force of those hands. He indicated with a nod of the head to the two bodies on the floor, and asked, "What you gonna do about them?"
"Leave them there. It'll send the right message."
And with that, Dara sauntered off into the night.
ante was asleep in his bedroom.
It was an unnatural sleep.
Had he been able to wake, on hearing the embellished screams of Derek's mother, he may have even tried to help.
But through the entire commotion, Dante slept on unaware of the events unfolding above him.
erek's mother called her friend, the Detective Inspector, on his private number the next day.
"Andy," she breathed, "this is- is- terrible. You must help."
"You should have been open and honest with us."
"I don't understand," she said, trying to sound confused. She understood all too well.
The DI's stern tone indicated he didn't believe her. "I told you not to rock the boat. Hiring a hitman from Ireland? Planting a bomb in an Irish pub? What exactly did you think was going to happen?"
Her hand shook as she said, "It's that Caleb. He's becoming a bad influence on my son."
"I think you're on your own with this one. I think we all are."
"What do you mean?"
"The ship has sunk. I can't protect you, or any of us, from what happens next. Don't call me again."
And with a click, the line went dead.
arry was tired of his patrol of Downland. All the things he should usually be reporting he had to ignore.
And the Devil's activities were boring as hell.
He was glad this was his last day.
Which was unusual, because Downland was being put back on the radar by the city's constabulary. The city council had been involved, too, with covert circuit controlled cameras being placed across the street.
Something had changed. But he hadn't been briefed on what the circumstances were. He only knew what he was told.
Which was usually very little.
Except that the terrorist unit were taking over.
And that Downland had quickly entered into a whole new ball game.
He walked towards Mitch and his dog. They were standing outside Derek's kitchen window.
Mitch indicated for him to move on. Dante was with him, on the phone to the police as a concerned citizen, because he'd just found two bodies on the grass verge that morning.
Mitch pulled at Charlie's lead, to stop him from sniffing the dead bodies. "Stop that," he said.
Larry shuffled past them, and he could feel Dante's eyes staring into him. He tried to avoid the bits of broken glass strewn across the path, looking down on the ground, and averting his eyes, in his best performance of a homeless drug user, yet.
The late actor Laurence Olivier would have been proud.
ownland Street did indeed change.
After Dante called the police, a team of forensic experts had placed a tent over the bodies, before removing them. They had remained for two days, while police officers patrolled Downland on foot and in their cars.
They knocked on doors. Asked for help from the residents.
But no one had seen or heard anything.
They entered Dante's home and searched his premises.
How was it he hadn't heard or seen anything?
The Devil lived directly below the scene of the crime.
Of course, they didn't call him that his face.
They called him Mr Rossi and took him in for questioning, and kept him in a holding cell while they carried out their investigations. In custody, they strip searched him, twice, just to be sure, and then processed his details. They took his picture, his fingerprints and his DNA.
Yet, no officer ever entered Derek's flat. Or questioned him.
illian was enraged. Dara had never seen him so angry before. Not even when they blew up his pub.
He asked, "What is it?
"I went to see Dante, to thank him. And I saw the fucking pigs arrest him. For your mess."
Dara shrugged, hiding the fact he was as bothered by it as his friend was. "They'll let him out. They got nothing on him. But Cillian, how many times you gonna thank him for saving your life?"
Cillian stopped sweeping up the debris. The fire department had finally let him back in the premises. "I weren't thanking him for that. Besides you can't repay that with a thanks, man."
"Aye, sure enough."
You got it bad lad, Dara thought. Dante ain't gonna look at you if he don't give me a second glance.
Not that I would want him to.
"What for, then?"
"He invited me to stay with him until I get all this sorted."
"And?"
"And I accepted."
Dara didn't speak. He remembered how Dante had touched Cillian's cheek. Maybe he was wrong about Dante. He hadn't got much right so far about the little man.
Suddenly, an idea formed in his mind. "Do you think he'd let both of us stay?"
Dara knew the best place to hide was right in the open. No one would think of looking in the most obvious place, not after they'd look once, anyway. And he had another sneaky suspicion about the police.
Cillian looked upset. "I'd do anything for you, man. But ain't that imposing? You think the police ain't gonna be watching his place?"
"I think the police were in with the drug cartel to a point. Now, that they're past that point, they're just gonna step back and watch what happens. Let it happen. And do what they always do." Dara took the sweeping brush from Cillian, and began to help clean up. "Come at the end and clean up the mess."
"Not of course, if you think I'd be imposing for a different reason?"
Cillian didn't reply to that.
erek had replaced his door. Reinforced, with deadlock bolts. Painted a bordello red. New glass panes in his kitchen window sparkled in the sunlight.
But it wasn't only the doors and windows that had changed in Derek's flat.
There were no more meetings of Camelot. No loyal knight came for his weekly Thursday night training sessions. Danny B had found sanctuary with the geriatric. He gave up his soul nightly for food and shelter, and tried not to think of his mother.
Meanwhile, Derek's mother still visited her son, on a Sunday. She had to keep up appearances, after all.
Only Caleb remained with his old man. And he rarely went out. Man and his boy holed themselves in, and watched, and waited.
And they still sent a mixture of their poisons down into Dante's flat. They still listened to him on the devices left by the police.
Although they didn't speak of it, Derek and Caleb's relationship had also changed.
They rarely talked. The sex was now perfunctory, as perfunctory as the visits of Derek's mother. The only passion shared between them now was their hatred of Dante. The Devil below them. To quietly and covertly poison his lungs while he slept, hoping it would harm his mind, and change him into something the police would not release.
From outside, no one could tell what was travelling between the two flats.
You couldn't tell just by looking at them.
illian stood outside Dante's front door, looking embarassed.
"I'm sorry about this, Dante," he said.
Dante looked at Dara, standing behind his invited guest. He thought for a moment. Then he said, "I am happy to accept both of you. Please, come in."
Dara followed behind Cillian. He bent down low, and entered Dante's flat. "Thank you," he said.
Dante stared at him. "Can I be honest with you, Mr Dara?"
"Aye, always. I would appreciate it."
"I wish I could say any friend of Mr Hayes is a friend of mine. But I am not sure about you."
Dara stared back at him. "In what way, Mr Dante?"
Dante pointed to the black crucifix around his neck. "You are a man of God. Well, then in ways only you and God knows. And what God knows is never kept hidden. It comes out eventually."
"And your point, Mr Dante?"
"My point is I want no harm to come to Mr Hayes because of me, or you."
Cillian blushed an even deeper red.
"Then we understand each other, Mr Dara?"
Dara nodded with a grin. "We do, indeed. And we are in agreement."
Dante smiled back. "Then you are welcome. Now, are you hungry? Can I make the both of you something to eat?"
"Am I ever!" Dara laughed, "Do you have any of those famous Sicilian pastries of yours?"
erek and Caleb looked at each other as they listened to Dante welcome his new guests.
But they told no one.
There was no one they could tell.
So, they listened.
And they waited.
an anyone ever see what waits for them around the corners of their lives?
Baba Mamba sure couldn't. He stood outside Dante's front door. He had second thoughts about knocking. He knew Dara and the pub owner were staying there, but he also knew Dara hadn't been back for a few days.
He was on the trail of the bomb and the money.
He knocked. He knocked again.
No answer. He knocked a final third time.
He heard movement coming from inside the flat, and he took a step back to wait for Dante to open the door.
When Dante opened it, Baba Mamba waited for Dante to say something. But he didn't speak.
"I know you don't want to talk to me," Baba Mamba said, "but I just wanted to say goodbye. I'm leaving Downland."
Dante spoke, then. "Will your masters let you leave?"
Baba Mamba smiled. Dara had put it about that he was under his protection. A first and final favour. His bosses didn't have much say in the matter. They didn't have much say in anything anymore, Baba Mamba had figured, and it was time to get out.
He dealt death, but it was death someone had to ask for, not like this.
"They will," was all he said, however.
"Then I wish you well." Dante was about to shut his door promptly, when he stopped. "I would like to give you something for your journey," he said. "Please wait."
Baba Mamba waited, curious as to what it could be. When Dante returned with Angelo's crucifix, he shook his head, and unlike him, shook it at speed. "Oh, no, no. Dante, man, I can't take that."
"I think you should take it, and find your friend, and give it back to him. Place it back around his neck."
Baba Mamba suddenly understood what Dante was trying to say. He took the crucifix and raised his head a little lower. "I wish we could have been friends, Dante," he said.
Dante smiled. "But we are friends, Baba. I once said you could be a good man. My faith in you has been proven. And I think, at the end, you have missed Angelo, more than I. We can never know how much we feel about a person until they are gone from our lives. Is that not, so?"
Baba Mamba raised his higher, then. "Is there anything you want me to tell Angelo, when I see him?"
"Just that I wish him well, but I am not the same Dante he knew. To remember me as I was, for that is how I shall always remember him."
"Thank you, man," Baba Mamba turned to leave, but Dante did not shut his door.
"Can I ask a last favour of you, Baba? But with no conditions this time."
"Name it," Baba Mamba said.
"Feed your people wherever and whoever they are. Never let them go hungry."
Baba Mamba clasped Angelo's crucifix in his hand. "You know it, brother," he said.
And with that, Dante promptly shut the door.
ante looked at Cillian, walking out of his bedroom in his underwear.
"I am sorry we were interrupted," he said.
Cillian grinned, "No more than I. What was that you gave him?"
Dante sighed. "A memento of a man I once loved, very, very much. More than my own life."
Dante suddenly looked concerned, worried that he had upset Cillian. "I have not hammered a nail into your heart, I hope?"
Cillian shook his head. "My heart's been hammered so much, there's nothing a sweet person like you could ever say to break it. Besides, you gave it back, didn't you?"
Dante smiled at that. "Oh, Cillian, I have finally found someone with a strong heart," he said, "to take me as I am."
"I'll take you alright," Cillian replied, pulling Dante into his arms. "I'll take you anyway you'll have me."
Published 14 May, 2026
