"Friends, I come to you today as a man of humble beginnings. Unlike most aristocratic folk I’m probably the only one on this planet who cannot claim the title ‘old money.’ And I come to you with concern. Yes, even now strength is sustained under the monarchy. Even in death, the Empress' example is a thick steel coat keeping our nation stable and prosperous. But even his legacy can only postpone a world without a ruler. For whatever reason, kept from us under shadowous wraps, we have yet to hear the sheer mention of a new successor. I can only speculate on their reasoning. But in their ill-timed silence this has become a source for contemplation. ‘Why not?’ many of us have asked. I may even be so brave as to believe their reason airs more to the sinister side. And how could I not? The throne is open. You’d think the royal family would be frothing at the mouth to get their hands on the throne. Yet not a whimper has come about as to our future visionary. Not from anyone, not a single political figurehead of our country. After Her Majesty’s passing, you’d expect them to be yapping about such matters until the cows come home. And yet as of today, there’ve only been dark looming murmurs behind closed doors and gritted teeth. This is outrageous. This is embarrassing. We’ve been silent for too long. For the sake of our nation's future, for the sake of national security, we must demand a new king. We demand one and we demand one yesterday. I am Sir Benedict Mayflower and I humbly ask for the sake of your children and descendants to have courage. Have the courage to break your silence. To speak your mind. Where is our king?"
I especially loved the bit about yapping and frothing. Quite audacious and inflammatory. The editor for the newspaper also enjoyed it. The speech found its way into a few more newspapers alongside other dissenters. The war, the crisis in the streets, the threats of labor strikes and the strange fear which had been growing was all but kindling for the fire.
As Mayflower left in his carriage amidst the clamor and cries for further comment, Thomas Thompson worked the crowd. He listened, asked questions and saw a fairly positive view of Mayflower's speech. The energy was positive and even if they didn't agree, they did have opinions. People love their opinions, especially when they can air them out in public.
A Common Alliance
Following this event, our dear Mayflower instructed his driver to take him to the residence of Lindion Mavienness. He had requested her presence, and she had acquiesced. She was not very keen on the man, but his speech intrigued her. Mayflower was escorted into the newly acquired Villa and seated with Lindion who tactfully tested the man's resolve and purpose. Mayflower was not knowledgeable in the ways of the political sphere. But he was a willing student. Neither party was completely sold to the other, but when Lindion revealed that she wished to ascend to the place of the new empress, but that would require the backing of the council, the royal family and other families, Mayflower was curiously interested. It was little wonder he would join forces. She was obviously connected and shared his vision in so far as someone should sit on the throne again. For the time being, their purposes were aligned. They parted with the plan of gaining an audience with the council, gaining allies in and without the guilds and other places of influence. This would be a process, but they would need to gain traction and validity by attracting others to their cause.
Lindion and Mayflower parted company, both hopeful that the other would prove useful.
Strange Visitors
Lucian Mar was not nervous. That's what he told himself numerous times as he rode over to collect his prize. He was ushered into the flat by a rather talkative fellow who introduced himself as Thomas Thompson. Mr. Thompson seemed very keen on making small talk. He asked him about Mayflower's speech, told him that he was an inventor or some such, and offered him a card. Lucian desperately wanted to get the whole thing over with. He was not very sure of what he said, but he remembered it being very inane. Lucian was good at saying what people wanted to hear. He was a clerk, after all. He did other people's bidding. Eventually the manservant returned with a crate filled with this marvelous armor. A modern wonder, to be sure. Not that Lucian had any appreciation for anything marvelous outside the rail line and the locks that brought him his tea and biscuits. Taking the crate, he fled as fast as propriety would allow.
The carriage was there, just as he had been instructed it would. The door opened and in he stepped, handing the crate to the party sitting opposite him. Lucian mopped his brow and slumped in his seat. The two men were rough looking. Their skin was as hard as leather, the rough lines of a laborer etched into the texture of their hands and faces. One of the fellows was thin, his eyes moving like lightning bolts. The other was thick like an oak barrel, and significantly taller.
The thinner man smiled as he gazed at the contents of the box. "This be butter on bacon, Boyd. Wonderboy came through."
"Bricky chap, afterall." Boyd said staring at Lucian who wished to crawl out of his skin and make a break for it.
"I got you what you wanted." Lucian said trying to keep his voice from squeaking. "Please, just drop me anywhere."
"Don't get your daddles up. Boss keeps his word when you does good by'm." Morty reassured their passenger. He set the box down on carriage floor between his legs. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a brown envelope. "Payment in full, Mr. Mars."
---
Mayflower returned shortly, carrying with him the air of a man who has stumbled into good fortune. He deposited his coat, stick and hat upon his butler and settled into his study for some deep contemplation. He was interrupted by a scream. Both Thomas and Mayflower reached the hallway in tandem. The maid was backing out of one of the parlors for entertaining guests, her face contorted in fear and shock. Mayflower tried to calm the maid while Thomas entered the room. There, sitting upon one of the chairs examining a bottle of scotch, was the mysterious woman named N. Her hood was pulled low over her eyes, as if the curtains had been pulled about her to block out all the light.
She replaced the bottle and told Mayflower she was here to cash in on the favor. A businessman such as Mayflower would always look at the possibilities to turn something like this into an advantage. The woman wanted Mayflower to track down a person by the name of Caesar. A figure of the low districts had vanished, and she needed him found. And just like the elites, Mayflower agreed and later instructed his Lymington Gentlemen to do his work for him.
A Curious Inquisition
As long as memory served, nobody knew why such a prolific and revered religion as the Aluminat Church had one of its largest cathedrals in Vertfield, one of the largest suburbs outside of Newhaven, instead of inside the city proper. Enough time had elapsed that none of the parishioners had ever questioned it. Though there were many clergy who chafed at the open rebuke from the Royal family. It was always a question by new priests and the one consistent complaint of aging clergymen.
The Cathedral of St Simon Paul was the one of the largest centers of religious expression in the High Moors. It boasted a church, an extensive library, a seminary and a large parsonage which acted more like a monastery then a private home. It had a revolving staff of missionaries, a private guard and students. The wrought iron fencing wrapped around the whole border, partially concealing the endless rows of hedges and sickly-sweet fruit trees which poured out their dour scent. There were several gardens for growing food which broke up the maze of gravel paths. The cathedral itself was an ancient gothic structure, filled with angels, saintly figures and sharp spires, pillars and scrollwork which peaked out from every possible surface. The collection of angelic faces, scornful rebukes and contemplative gestures reminded everyone that they were under constant scrutiny. The interior boasted tiled floors, pillars of curious design and stained-glass windows which told the stories of the church. The cathedral was its own labyrinth of halls, passages and rooms. Icons watched over the many priests and laymen who passed under their prevue. High domes and small crevices were filled with paintings, relics and angelic beings reaching down from the heavens. Priests passed by with prayers on their lips, short bows and quiet reverence in the presence of their patrons and fellow laborers in the faith. Every detail was like a book which began at the front doors and then split off in every direction, telling a continuous story which looped back into the main hall and then swept up a staircase or off into an adjoining room or hall. But it always worked back upon itself in some fashion and never truly ended.
The rest of the matching faces belonged to mortal on this side of the veil. In particular was one Brother Marcus, a clerk at the cathedral and had spent the better part of his life in the service of the church. There had once been higher goals for the enthusiastic young lad. But something had occurred which had left him quietly serving in his clerical role for life. Vows are such difficult things to maintain.
Father Collins greeted the young man as he emerged from the squared hedges. Marcus was pleased to see the kindly priest. He escorted him to the library as they engaged in banal conversation. He left the gnome outside the door as he pushed aside the plain wooden doors.
Brother Stephen was keeper of the combined knowledge of the Aluminat Church at the Cathedral. Brother Stephen had more in common with a bear or coal miner then a librarian. He was over six feet tall, a broad hulk with a long salt-and-pepper beard and mustaches. He had never attempted to remove his strong accent nor his love for brewed spirits and tiny biscuits. He wore a black robes and scrutinized you with his dark eyes under the lenses of his round spectacles. Brother Stephen had already spent the better part of his life serving the church in the pursuit of stamping out the presence of the Maleficium. He had, among many of his accomplishments, survived largely unscathed. But Brother Steven knew these experiences had changed him. And though he had been offered many chances to advance into the hierarchy, he had quietly "retired" to a quiet life among dusty tomes, ancient scrolls and the endless job of organizing and cataloguing the church's documents. He always collected new stories, no matter how insane and enjoyed frequent visits from others.
Father Collins wasted little time telling the librarian about his encounters in the Greenwood. Brother Stephen was especially curious about his meeting with the strange, tattooed woman. The patient man departed and retrieved an old journal which told of a similar experience and detailed the experiences of a priest who had a similar dealing with the strange members of this shrouded organization. Brother Stephen thought it best that his friend takes a cross, similar to his own, which had served the writer of the tale in his encounters with these mysterious people. Filled with more questions than answers, Father Collins went in search of Father Unigild who was overseeing the inquiries into the Malefic tokens acquired by the Ministry.
Father Collins was no stranger to the halls of the Inquisition. It was largely unknown to the wider population that they ever existed. Usually a priest would be seen carrying a black leather bag sealed by the High Office and perform strange rites. But nobody knew the truly terrifying world the Inquisition walked. The evil that lurked beneath of the surface of civilized society was real.
Finding a Father Emory, Father Collins was escorted past the tables, desks and priests who had taken on the dangerous task of ascertaining, cataloguing and investigating stories of the presence of the Maleficium. Father Emory, a pale man with sharp blue eyes and a crisp beard, told Father Collins that they had given the initial inquiry to a new acolyte who possessed the "sight". They had underestimated the potency of these crude devices of bone, leather and wood. Father Collins opened up his own sight to the relics and he was instantly assaulted by the cacophony of voices which tried to corrupt his mind. He resisted, pushing them out and away from himself. The apprentice, as he learned, was not so lucky. The sigils carved into the surface were of unusual design. But they looked like an old form of enchantment which was not used by Etheric manipulators.
Armed with this knowledge, Father Collins made his way back to the Ministry. Burnes and Hughes would have a surprise for him as well.
