The cobbled streets glistened with the grimy gas light. The clatter of wheels and the shuffling of soft soled boots receded into the background as the sun dipped down behind mountains. The day gave way to the night. Respectable men and women trailed in and out of gin houses, private parlors and intimate parties. From the top of the city down into the bowels of Newhaven, there were favors given and a drink shared. The life of this city retreated behind glowing windows, thick curtains and into the company of friends. The only life on this street was a constable walking his beat, dollymops cooing from street corners, and laborers walking to and fro from the blast of the steam whistle that cried out for the next shift.
Two figures emerged onto the street, locked arm and arm as they walked at a steady pace up the side streets, weaving this way and that towards the upper districts of Newhaven. Ed Gurunkel was puffing away happily on his pipe, the soft glow adding a cheery light to his dark eyes. Jasmine Gooding likewise was enjoying her own pipe, though she was relying less on its warmth than usual. The combined fog surrounded them in thick, fragrant tendrils, shielding them against the night as it trailed behind them and dissipated in their wake. They were near the end of a promising investigation. They had found friendship in their own kin, something that was unique and mutually shared. Jasmine had become aware of something stirring inside her which seemed terrifying and wonderful. Ed was not exactly the first person she had expected to find. He was mellow, kind and thoughtful. She had thought her life would have ended with a typical brute who she would have sired a large family for and been reduced to surviving in the harsh conditions that her kind was forced to endure. Most of her kin would have said it was her duty and to accept it. But Jasmine knew that deep down she was not entirely Ork. There was something else mixed into her blood. Maybe that was why she liked humans. It made her wonder about Ed's kin. He was so unlike other Orks. He was optimistic, idealistic in some respects and even possessed a control over his emotions she found rare in the purebloods. It was a strange Fate that had merged their paths together.
As they rounded the next bend, they cut across the narrow street and crossed into a small alley. The light was poor here, but that was no obstacle for the acute eyes of the Ork species, who had developed a keen sight even in the dark. As the hues of yellow and orange faded into shades of grey, Jasmine felt something. Some people feel the hair on the back of their neck stiffen, while others have a gut feeling. Jasmine had always trusted the buzzing in the base of her neck, that sense that something in the world had become detached. It came only a second before Ed, who had been cheerily talking and savoring his pipe, stiffened, his face twisted into a mixture of terror and anguish, and nearly doubled over. The pipe slipped from between his clenched teeth and clattered against the cobbles. Jasmine turned just in time to see a cloaked and hooded figure emerge from the shadows, her pale hand outstretched towards them. She was muttering something. A witch, Jasmine thought to herself with mounting anger and fear. Jasmine slipped her hand into her pocket and slid her brass knuckles over her fingers, readying to charge this assailant.
The woman, for Jasmine could recognize the supple figure of the female form even beneath the drab clothing, suddenly charged, her voice rising suddenly as her pale eyes focused on Ed. "Murderer!"
Jasmine interposed herself between this witch and Ed, her brass knuckles brushing the face of the attacker as she swung for her thin nose. There was a flash of steel and Jasmine felt the quick slash of a blade slice through her dress and glance off her corset. There was a crack of gunfire as Ed had managed to draw out his pistol and discharge a single shot, which slammed into the attacker’s shoulder.
Jasmine spun around, bringing her fist across in the classic haymaker. Jasmine struck low, feeling the thick leather armor absorb her blow to the woman’s gut. The woman stepped to one side; her spindly fingers outstretched towards Jasmine's head. The tips of her fingers touched Jasmine's skin, the cold icy touch of Death. Jasmine felt the wave of emotion washing over her, the burdens of a weary traveler, the long shift that never ended, the echoes of a mother in the throes of labor and a man gripping the edge of a cliff, desperately trying not to fall. Jasmine felt her limbs buckle beneath her, images and emotions spinning like a top inside her head, and all her strength trickled away like water down a drain.
As the darkness enclosed around her, there was a muffled pain somewhere at the back of her head, which now felt miles away. There was a roar and a blast from a pistol. And then nothing. A blissful silence settled over Jasmine, like a thick wool blanket. There was not a thought, sound or feeling as she was swept away in an endless abyss of sleep. Time did not matter. Space was relative and there was not a soul which could disturb her. Was this the final place of rest? Was this how her life was to end?
"Ah, a visitor."
Jasmine glanced up. At least, she felt like she was looking up. But she was lying on something solid. She picked herself up, instantly regretting it as a spider-like sensation of pain shot across the back of her head. She glanced down and saw the red, smeared across the black stones. She thought they were stones, or at least a mirror of what stones should look like. Her eyes swam as she took in the grey space, slowly shifting into focus as a sitting room began to take form and shape. Furniture and fixtures began to float into view, a wall was suddenly where there had not been a wall. Then a fireplace burst into a welcoming warm glow. As she looked around, bits of light began to sparkle overhead. Vague shadows of buildings floated past, like memories of a place she once saw.
Then she saw him. He was sitting in a chair near to the fireplace, a thin smile drawn across his narrow, pointed face. He was wearing a black three-piece suit with a ruby red rose in his lapel. His black wavy hair was combed back and shone slightly. His bright eyes peered inquisitively at Jasmine in a way that made Jasmine feel like he was looking past her, or perhaps, through her.
"Who...who are you? Where am I? Where is..." Jasmine's voice trailed off as she tried to stand and felt the pain ripple down her spine. She felt like she would throw up. She felt a hand the gentle smell of...was that roses? She looked up through squinted eyes to see the man standing over her. He reached down and took her hand.
"We have much to discuss, Miss Gooding."
Father Collins
In the wee hours of the morning
I've encountered so few men who possess such a bright and positive outlook on life while simultaneously encountering the dark things of the world with the candor and grace of a priest baptizing a newborn baby. Most of them were mad. Father Collins was not mad. In fact, he was a little too sane. This is why his visit to the Ministry was to him as common as visiting the barber or eating breakfast. When one encounters the things on the wrong side of the veil, you tend to appreciate things like breakfasting well, vacations in quiet places and comedies about demons eating children. That is, he would have enjoyed them if he ever took time to enjoy them on the way to some crisis or another. That was why he was here at the behest of Douglas Burnes.
The two men had engaged each other's services many times over the years. One such incident involved a soldier who had encountered a vile amount of the Maleficium and had contracted a rare condition known as "having a tale". His condition worsened, despite Father Collins and Burnes actions, that eventually, the soldier, and his recently acquired tale, exploded in a burst of red mist. I think it scarred a few bystanders in that regiment. However, Father Collins made a note to explore the combustive effects of human tissue when in contact with the Aether. For scientific purposes, of course.
The dark-haired lad welcomed his old associated into his cluttered office. "Goldie" Hughes was lingering behind a pile of files and books, sulking. She nodded as Father Collins acknowledged her and sat down. Douglas Burnes explained the reason for summoning his friend here today. They had been engaged in an investigation regarding the influx of magical artifacts. They had hit a wall in their investigation. He laid out to the Father how they had been put on the trail of a man known as Thomas Thompson and Ed Gurunkul by way of a package they believed had killed the last recipient. The man's name was Leigh McNab and he'd been under suspicion for a while. They had come into some kind of arrangement and had begun searching for the package. These two had formed or been connected to others as well, including a strange detective, some upper-class socialites and others. When McNab was murdered, they began looking into Thomas and Gurunkul. He relayed the events they had observed, but again, had been unable to prove a solid motive in the execution of McNab. There was also another body in the rubble presumably in the room with McNab when he died. The body vanished the next day.
Then there were the events of the previous night. A large group of these aforementioned people had all gone into Low Park and managed to get themselves ambushed by a group of thugs. It raised for questions than gave answers. The conspiracy seemed to have a deeper current Burnes was unable to discern. He knew Thomas was holding back information and he had an affiliation with famous, rich and low life individuals. Douglas relayed all that he knew of the events and how they had transpired, as well as the others that had been seen at the incident. Douglas Burnes asked Father Collins if he would approach Thomas Thompson, recruit him if possible, and suss out the smuggling ring.
While relating this tale, Father Collins perked up when Burnes mentioned a name. Lindion Mavienness, an associate of Thompson. Fate that Father Collins should already have a connection with someone who could help in his investigation. Promising quick results, he departed. Good old Goldie caught him in the hall and gave him a warning. She didn't trust Thompson. She felt something else was going on. And as with everything Father Collins learned in his life; he filed it away for use later. Right next to that recipe for Elderberry Pie and how to definitely not summon a demon.
Invitations and Apologies
The Bridgertons were an old family with deep ties across Faerun. Their trade was in war, and they had a monopoly on controlling interest in the manufacturing of munitions and killing engines. There were rumors about how they conducted their ruthless business dealings. But it was clearly the propaganda of jealous rivals. Their connection to the Royal Crown of Newhaven made them powerful as they supplied weapons and armor for the fighting men and women of the armies that were fighting in the North.
The other was from House Amcathra. "Festival of Good Spirits! The latest fine wines from Amcathra Brewery will be available for tastings, as well as some aged wines from the Amcathra Reserve and bottled right in Newhaven. Light refreshments served." Amcathra was equally old but had distinguished themselves as master swordsmiths and vintners of coveted wine. They stood as high members within the Splendid Order of Finesmiths and the Vintners, Brewers and Distillers Guild. They avoided the mass production industry and instead focused on quality. Their crowning achievement was forging weapons during the Great War and, legend has it, crafting one of the most excellent weapons for the Forever Empress herself. (The Legend goes that the blade composed of a rare, unbreakable metal and enchanted with ancient magic. The blade was given to the Empress on the eve of a great battle. While facing a great monster which had slain many of her soldiers, she plunged the blade into its side and snapped the blade, leaving half of it in the creature. The swordsmiths apologized profusely when they learned the sword had failed, but the Empress told them that she could not suffer more of her men to perish at the hand of his monster and so broke the blade herself so that it would continue to kill the creature long after the battle was over. The Forever Blade still sits on display in the Royal Palace to this day.)
At this point Thomas Thompson arrived, having posted his own morning mail, including an apology to Miss Mavienness and a quick word to Roald, who he would meet with later to relate his success in tracking down the Spring-heeled Jacks. Thomas and Benedict discussed the prospects of these events together, the telegram Thomas received from his friend regarding Joules Verne and some ideas for the new suit. Benedict was especially pleased when he learned that Thomas was himself acquainted with nobles, aristocrats and people of some influence. They planned to accompany each other on these various journeys and meetings.
Rest, for the Weary
The superficial wounds of the previous night had begun to heal as Lindion enjoyed a few comforts of home. Her rooms were spacious, and now with her personal nurse, a proper change of clothing and other personal items, she felt somewhat more confident to face breakfast with the Belabrantes. She sat with the family, seeing the family joined together in solemn feasting. Mary was naturally curious but directed her statements and questions to herself so as to not risk losing the flow of conversation. Yuko was the only one who seemed quite unperturbed. She had come down earlier to converse with Vengarl about the short, but glorious campaign the previous night. He related all the pertinent details with the elegance of a storyteller and champion of many wars. He noted how puny the people of Newhaven were compared to the magnificent and terrifying beasts of their homeland. Even their own warriors could stand up to more than these little rabbits which ran and scurried away the moment he appeared. I will not relate all the things the spoke of, though it might be worth noting they did talk of the proposed hunting expedition. Yuko thought about asking Arthur if they could invite Telmage to accompany them.
Their talk soon devolved into other subjects as Vengarl vanquished another plate of food and had his fill of drink. Lindion picked at her own plate politely until Arthur excused himself and she had a chance to talk with him privately. She noted that what Mary knew of the previous evening was cleverly disguised as a common mugging and left her completely innocent in it. Leaving Philip in the hall, Lindion entered Arthur's office and was fully prepared to defend herself, perhaps even level her own accusations of ungentlemanly behavior. But Arthur turned and apologized before she had a chance, effectively disarming her. With this swept out of the way, Lindion and Arthur were able to establish a new truce as they would work towards their combined goals. Arthur had influence, Yuko needed a steady feminine influence and their designs for the future could be mutually achieved. Arthur was ambitious and wished a united North and East. Lindion of course wished for the war to end, but she had social ambitions for the society, and she thought politics suited her. Women in government was not unheard of, but impressing Guild Men required some doing. Arthur was the ticket, and she had a hope for attaining these dreams.
Parting ways, Lindion quickly collecting her things and eagerly returned to her home. Arthur occupied himself with plans for the future, uncertain just how far this new alliance would go.
No comments:
Post a Comment