ã€ŠThe Blood Debt Chroniclesã€‹


 B#1 - C#1

    The Blood Debt Chronicles:

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the first or How the Lady Adeline MacNeal Found the Drive to Move Forward in Life

    The end of the Romance period and the Victorian Era were times of change and invention. There was so much ingenuity during these periods that much later, in 1899 after decades of thousands of patents being granted each year; Punch Magazine ran a comedy claiming that ¡°everything that can be invented already has been invented¡±. This was, of course, not the case and many thousands of patents continued to be granted. The Empire of Great Britain had colonies all around the world and in spite of its loss of the United States of America, still retained a cordial relationship with the fledgling country.

    The landscape of Britain had been changing rapidly. Coal mining had pillaged the once lush lands of the country and the coal shafts, along with able bodied men, were being sent deeper into the earth. Steam power was bringing invention to the common person and electricity, both direct and alternating, was hot on its heels.

    The Crimean War became the first war to utilize these new inventions. Telegraphs meant that orders where able to be communicated quickly to the front lines and photographs were able to show the people of Britain just how incompetent their military leaders were. Which in turn butchered the populous¡¯ willingness to support the war and helped bring an expedient resolution.

    But not all invention seemed good for the people. In the past, a peasant could make a living in the country, but now machines were doing twice the work in half the time. Largely, people were leaving the country and moving to London or other large cities. Over crowding was rampant and business owners did not need to concern themselves with working conditions because if an employee died or was maimed, six more would arrive to replace them.

    Good things had surfaced. Slavery had been made illegal throughout the entire Empire and during this age of enlightenment, America was fighting a bloody battle to discover if it would be declared illegal there as well.

    Over a hundred years ago, Jonathan Swift had written the scathing satire, A Modest Proposal, illustrating the Empire¡¯s total disregard and inhumane treatment of the Irish, something that had ultimately changed few people¡¯s view on the Irish. The end of the potato famine had occurred only ten years ago, in 1852. A famine that had, luckily, impacted the Empire very little since Ireland was still producing copious amounts of other food stuffs including, but not limited to: calves, peas, salmon, honey and wheat. It had served to send many Irish to America, much to the British populous¡¯ pleasure.

    Between the influx of Irish, attempting to escape starvation, and British peasantry escaping their own poverty, the social landscape was shifting whether the nobility wanted it to or not. France¡¯s independence from their king had been giving the lower classes ideas about what they could demand, and how they could demand it. The merchant classes were finding the influx of money gave them in some ways, more power than the nobility, who were constrained by Society and their own dwindling resources. The merchant class could, at times, get away with more corruption because their was no Society to police them.

    It was in this tumultuous environment that the esteemed Lady MacNeal sat in her parlor drinking a cup of tea. The last few years had been turbulent for her as for the country. Her son, Edward the Younger, who had been the only child she succeeded in carrying to term, had died seven years ago. He had been in the country of his birth, India, when he had been murdered. The reports said that he had been killed by a rogue tribe who worshiped Shiva. He had been so badly tortured that they were only able to identify him by his signet ring and the engraved pocket watch Lord MacNeal had given him when he turned eighteen.

    Whatever they had been told, Lord and Lady MacNeal had known that hadn¡¯t been the truth. The region that he had been killed in was the region that Lord MacNeal had been stationed in. The people loved little Edward, the British child who had promised to learn all the languages and all the customs of his beloved people; the young man who had done just that. Lord MacNeal had set out for India to discover the truth and three years ago, he had met his demise in a steamer accident.

    Lady Adeline MacNeal, widow, gazed out the window of her parlor. The curtains were drawn. She was uninterested in spying eyes seeing that she was wearing full mourning. People wouldn¡¯t understand. It had been long enough after her husband¡¯s death that she should be wearing day gowns, her mourning clothes put away.

    She didn¡¯t need the curtains pulled to know what lay beyond the clear glass panels of the London morning. Thick clouds of coal dust mixed with the natural fog that rose from the Thames in the morning; resulting in noxious vapors that hung in the air and clung to any casual passerby¡¯s clothes, hair, and permeated invisibly their unsuspecting lungs. The lady believed that it was this harmful smog that had caused her to miscarry so many times.

    When she had shared her fear with her elder brother, Dravan, he had some time later, though not in time to save her third pregnancy, come up with a spell that could shield an area from airborne poisons. As a respected academic from the Academy, his creation of a magic spell that prevented airborne toxins from entering an area spread like wildfire. Queen Victoria herself had bequeathed an estate to Dravan in thanks.

    Though much of London suffered under the poisonous fog, certain sections found reprieve from the perilous clouds. Namely, the houses and grounds of the nobility who could afford to pay for a professional mage of the Academy to place, daily, weekly, or monthly shields up. How long the shield could last was dependant on the skill of the mage and how much blood they had been paid to spill.

    A noble¡¯s house that was wishing to save money might only have the front of the house and areas that were expected to see guests shielded. The truly affluent might extend their protections into the street a pace or send the shield higher into the air so that other nobles could see their ability to spend money shielding a sky that would never be used.

    Lord and Lady MacNeal, owners of a sprawling estate even in the heart of London, fell somewhere in the middle of these extremes. They had hired Dravan to do the enchantments, not bothering to extend their clean air far above the top of the building. Their extravagance, unbeknownst to most, lay in the fact that they paid for all of the buildings they owned throughout London to receive the same treatment. Something only the most shockingly wealthy and the most altruistic could afford to do. All this meant that there were pockets of clear air even in the poorest areas of London.

    Adeline was pulled from her musings by the sound of a sharp knock on the front door, followed by a gentle plop. It was the sound of mail coming through the slot in the door. According to the time piece on the mantle, it was as prompt as ever: eight o¡¯clock. Had she not given the majority of her servants a week off, the hall boy would have been at the door to open it before the mail carrier could knock. The hall boy, John, would have then given any mail or cards to the butler or a footman and they in turn would bring it in on a silver platter for her to open. Customarily, this was to prevent a noble from touching something that a commoner had; the lady followed the practice because it would be a scandal not to.

    She sighed. Determined to enjoy quite of the empty household. There were no servants to fret over her and ask if they could be of service, nor guests to entertain. She finally had the peace to be sad and miss the men who had been so influential in her life. Men she had loved, each after his own fashion, men she would never see again, or at the very least, not until the Divine took her home.

    Since her husband had died three years ago on his way home from India on that steamer, Jeeves had been declining in health. Last week he had passed away. She knew that she needed to replace him, her acquaintances were beginning to send her recommendations, but she just couldn''t find it in her heart to replace Jeeves so soon. So she had sent away most of her servants and was spending the week in mourning. No one would understand; mourning for a servant was absurd. Even for a servant that was an elf, incredibly long lived, and had been with the family for generations.

    Most likely, the letter was and invitation to another soiree intended for men to see if her husband''s money and title were worth her face and disposition. She had no intention of interrupting her tea for something so disagreeable. She took another sip. The tea was lovely. I¡¯ll have to thank Josephine¡­ where did she get it from¡­? Somewhere in the Orient no doubt. Most likely from a prospective suitor. Josephine was her late husband¡¯s younger sister. She had been born in India and while her primary residence remained the country of her birth, she was truly a world traveler and had men of every nation tripping over themselves for her hand. Edward had never insisted that she marry.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    There was another knock on the door, "Adeline, I''m coming in!" this comment was followed by some indistinct mussitation.

    Adeline leaned to a creatively hidden speaking tube, adjusting a cleverly hidden lever to make sure her words went to the correct location, "Mary, could you bring up some tea for Anya." Silver runes glowed as she spoke, evoking an enchantment that allowed her words to be transmitted clearly to the kitchen.

    The device was ingenious. It allowed her to speak to anyone as long as they were connected by the tube. Mundane versions had come about first, simple tubes of copper connecting one room to the kitchen so that there was no disagreeable shouting or prolonged waits for service, however the further the speaker was from the listener, the more difficult it could be to ascertain what was being said. Young Edward and his uncle had worked tirelessly together to develop the correct enchantments and then fix them to an inanimate object. Fixing spells to objects wasn¡¯t something just any magician could do; Lady MacNeal¡¯s family had been blessed with the talent and an abundance of users.

    A faint but clear, "Yes, my lady." drifted back in reply, but Adeline had already closed the tube. She knew her request would be tended to.

    A napiform[1]</a>, three foot tall woman with flamingly Irish hair and a serviceable and forgiving dress spoke while coming into the parlor with some letters tucked under her arm, "You really must get a new butler. You can''t keep living like this. You''re becoming a shut in." Anya waved the letters at Adeline, ¡°And instill some discipline in that hall boy of yours. I could have slipped on these letters; he should have been there to retrieve them.¡±

    Adeline smoothed her black dress with a gloved hand. It was the height of fashion and tailored from the most expensive cloth available to her while in mourning: cashmere and crape, purchased from Lyons as they made the best quality. Her cage crinoline allowed her skirt to maintain its bell shape beautifully, even at a large size. Her dress was not as expansive as it could be. Adeline sacrificed some of the girth of her dress for practicality; she didn¡¯t care for dresses so large that a woman could not make her way through a door.

    Adeline did not remind Anya that it had been very forward of her to have entered the estate without leave. In some ways, there was a certain charm to someone who did what they thought best without regard to social consequences, but it had been quite inappropriate. "I gave much of the staff a week of leave, he was one of them. It¡¯s fine, he¡¯ll be back in a day or two.¡± she paused, her lips pulling toward a frown, before continuing, ¡°I''m hardly a shut in. My dear friend visits me nearly everyday."

    This was the first time Anya had been to visit since Jeeves¡¯ death. "This dear friend was not born into society and is Irish to boot. She is worse than no society." Anya plunked down into one of the delicate, high-backed chairs. She decided not to comment further on Lady MacNeal¡¯s servants. It was terribly inappropriate to have mentioned them in the first place, but she did have a certain amount of freedom in how she addressed the older woman¡­

    Adeline conceded the point. It was practically a scandal how close she was to Anya. It would have been a scandal except that Adeline was one of those "dear ladies" that worked with the poor: visiting orphans, building educational centers, providing safe places for abused women, maintaining orphanages, trying to get women off the streets and into maintained homes, feeding the starving, etc. Mostly, the poor didn''t come to her home since it would be disgraceful if droves of filthy paupers came into the opulent houses of the peerage. Adeline made sure everyone who came to her house had business to be there. This generally satisfied her acquaintances. Generally.

    "Do you really think Jeeves would approve of you shutting yourself off like this?" Anya put on a lugubrious, dower expression saying in her best man''s voice, "It is hardly the behavior befitting of a lady." Anya¡¯s eyes flicked to Adeline¡¯s full mourning dress. Adeline had finally been about to complete her period of mourning for the deaths of her son and husband. It wouldn¡¯t do for the older women to enter full mourning over a servant, even one who had been with the family since he had entered service.

    A smile tugged at Adeline''s face. Jeeves was - had been - a gloomily, stoic faced elven man. It was almost as if someone had told him the proper way to be a butler was to look like you were on your way to a funeral. It was a surprising contrast to the compassionate heart he carried within him. He was so supportive of her work with the poor.

    Anya handed the correspondence she had carried over to Adeline. As she was passing the letters over she paused, a frown creeping over her face.

    Anya¡¯s smiles tended to look quite similar to frowns, but Adeline had known the Halfling woman long enough that she could usually tell the difference. "What is it Anya?"

    "I came to see you about a strange letter I received, but I believe you have received a similar letter, perhaps in the same hand." Anya handed the mail over, pulling an identical letter from her pocket.

    "Curious." Adeline compared the handwriting. This was of course redundant. If Anya said it was in the same hand, it was. Anya not only had an eidetic memory, she also was gifted with the ability to comprehend written language almost instantly. It was a talent that served her well as a research assistant among the mages of the Academy.

    "We should go to this soiree."

    "We should?" Adeline eyed her friend cautiously. Anya had an unhealthy obsession with puzzles. More than that¡­ Anya cannot afford to dress in a presentable fashion and because she will be arriving with me, I will have to make certain that she looks presentable or it could reflect badly. Not that Lady Adeline cared what many people thought for herself, but If I am cast out of polite society then ladies and gentlemen who would not think to give to the poor on their own will not give at all. Since Adeline was able to collect more than a hundred times what she could give alone from the peerage, this was a significant threat. Anya¡¯s new outfit was not a significant amount of money to her, but it would be a significant amount less food to the orphans.

    "Yes!" Anya leaned forward, "This is perfect! You need to get out of the house, interact with some people, but if you go to one of those society parties you''ll just mope."

    Adeline''s eyes narrowed, "I do not mope."

    Anya''s next comment dismissed Adeline thoroughly, "You''ll mope. If you come to this party, you''ll be on an adventure. You''ll be focused on trying to discover what sort of danger is lurking instead of how you miss Lord MacNeal and now Jeeves."

    Adeline knew Anya was right. Her husband would have wanted her to be happy. Jeeves would have wanted her to do the proper thing and be a part of society. Jeeves would be disappointed with how much time she had spent away from Society already. Inwardly, she made the conscious decision to move forward. She laughed, "It would be a jolly good time. It would be a regular Holmes adventure!"

    Anya laughed, mentally calculating what kind of dress she would ask Adeline to provide her with for the party. Adeline couldn¡¯t be seen with Anya if she wasn¡¯t dressed appropriately. It would ruin the lady¡¯s reputation. A reputation the lady needed to maintain if she was to continue to encourage other people from the peerage to help the poor. "Promise me you won''t take up the pipe!"

    Adeline grimaced, she hated the mundungus[2]</a>stuff. "That, you shall have no fear of."

    <hr />

    [1]</a>Shaped like a turnip

    [2]</a>Bad-smelling tobacco

 B#1 - C#2

    The Blood Debt Chronicles:

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the second or How Adeline Learns of Farcical''s Meddling and the Plot Thickens

    Cat scampered to Lady MacNeal¡¯s estate. She slipped through the gate. Where¡¯s John? Lady Adeline always had all the appropriate servants. A man, John, to stand in the gate house and prevent riff raff from approaching the house. Not that he got to do his job. Not really. The lady worked with all the different layers of society, especially after her husband died, so John let lots of people through that no other servant would ever consider.

    Cat took in the estate. Although it was still opulent and hardly in a state of disrepair; it wasn¡¯t up to its normal standards. There¡¯s dirt on the front step. That shouldn¡¯t be there. Cat could see smudges on the windows. Did she fire everyone? That couldn¡¯t be true. Lady MacNeal knew that would ruin her staff if she let them all go en mass, especially if she didn¡¯t give them a reference.

    Cat went around to the back and came up through the servant¡¯s entrance. ¡°Ello, Cook!¡± She called stepping into the kitchen and taking off her cap in a smooth motion. The room was swelteringly hot, which was why the door was always open.

    Cook was a matronly woman in a crisp, white apron and cap. Cook looked up and tisked, ¡°Lad, your bones are all sharp angles again! How long did it take me to put some meat on you before?¡±

    Cat smiled. Cook loved to feed people and the lady loved to let her. ¡°A day if I remember correct.¡±

    Cook frowned, ¡°It was longer than that.¡± She sprinkled some additional seasoning in the stew she was making, ¡°I expect you are here for the lady? If you came around just for food, you never would have gotten so thin.¡± She waited for Cat to nod, ¡°Then, love, go speak your piece to the misses.¡±

    Cat started toward the servant¡¯s stairs when Cook stopped her.

    ¡°Lad,¡± she tossed Cat a hand towel, ¡°clean your face and hands. Properly, now. You know where to put the towel when you are done. I won¡¯t have you going into our lady¡¯s presence with you filthy, bad enough I don¡¯t have time for Mary to give you a proper bath and a change of clothes before you approach her.¡±

    Frankly, Cat agreed with Cook. Even though she didn¡¯t particularly enjoy being clean, it seemed wrong to go before the lady at less than their best. It made it worse that the lady didn¡¯t shame a lad for coming as they were.

    Adeline and Anya were finishing their tea when the maid, Mary, showed Cat into the parlor. Clearly, Cat had come through the servant''s entrance. It was also clear that someone had taken a cloth to Cat''s face and hands before bringing her upstairs. This was only proper since Cat was a street urchin and very dirty.

    "Cat? How good to see you." Adeline gestured to the scones on the silver tray, "Please, help yourself dear."

    Cat''s freshly cleaned face beamed, "It''s good to see you, my lady." The lady was as gracile[1]</a>as ever.

    Adeline smiled, "I''m still willing to adopt you, whenever you are looking for a bath."

    It was an old disagreement. One that had kept Cat away from Lady MacNeal''s for the past few months. Cat had feared refusing would irritate the good lady and cause the lady to reveal her secret. "Sorry, my lady. I''d hate to leave my sewer behind for clean clothes, I¡¯ve heard some say that soap can do powerful terrible things to the skin and mine is delicate." She needn''t have worried, she realized that now. Lady MacNeal would never expose Cat''s secret to the rest of the world. Of course, the lady''s household knew she was a girl, but they also knew how much Lady MacNeal favored the urchin and they wouldn''t put either of them in danger by exposing the child.

    It was remarkable, Cat knew that now. No one¡¯s staff was as loyal to their mistress as the lady¡¯s was. This loyalty was made even more remarkable because the priests of the Divine maintained that dressing like the opposite sex, in this case as a boy, was an abomination and should be punished on earth by a whipping for the first offence. According to the priests, the Divine was not as lenient as they were, and cast any of these abominations into the hells where devils and demons of the lower courts tormented someone for all of eternity. Cat thought that was a bit extreme for a set of clothes, but the lady was a very devout woman, as was her household. They have a lot of faith in her. More faith, apparently in her than in the priests.

    It was easier for Adeline and her household to pretend Cat was a boy all the time, then to try and remember when one could call Cat a girl. Lady Adeline was careful about saying certain things around Anya; the short Irishwoman had an eidetic memory. Something Adeline had thought could help her brother, but could be troublesome when dealing in secrets.

    Anya frowned, "I can''t believe the two of you."

    Mary brought up a glass of milk with cucumber sandwiches artfully arranged on a silver tray. "Thank you, Mary."

    Cat scooped up some sandwiches and almost began stuffing them into her face. A glance at Lady MacNeal''s frown stopped her and had her eating at a more appropriate pace. When she could force herself to stop for a moment, Cat handed her letter to the lady. It was smudged and dirty from having been in her pocket, but the elegant calligraphy was still legible, "My lady, would you please read my letter? I got one today, and well, it''s the first time I wished I could read."

    Adeline took the letter, "Who gave you this letter?"

    "I can''t remember if''n it was a man or a woman. But they was cloaked and hooded." Cat said before popping another sandwich in her mouth.

    "How very curious. I received the same letter." Adeline took a sip of tea. Divine. I don¡¯t know how other cultures can live without tea. It must be absolutely dreadful.

    Cat leaned forward, "That''s the same thing his lordship said, what does it say?"

    Adeline and Anya exchanged a glance, "It is an invitation to dinner and the unveiling of a mummy from Egypt. The good doctor will be performing an autopsy on it as well." She flipped the card, "On the back there is warning regarding thieves."

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Cat wasn''t certain what an autopsy was, but she did know one thing. Her face fell, "I can''t go to a dinner party."

    "No, I suppose not." Adeline sipped her tea as she thought.

    Anya answered, "Unless you came in as a servant. A dinner this size, they would hire additional help." Anya had a servant. She considered anyone who even played the part to be beneath her station. Lady MacNeal should stop wasting her charity on this ungrateful boy. She felt that way, primarily because Cat refused the blessing of being adopted by the lady. After all, such a blessing should have gone to someone more deserving, namely, her.

    Cat wasn¡¯t thrilled with the idea of being a servant. The world was changing. Even a common girl could dream of something bigger and better to do. Or at least, shorter hours and more pay.

    Adeline lit up, "Of course! I would pay you for your trouble."

    "You would pay me?" A few coins however, would be all it took to change her mind.

    "Certainly! Someone is going to be up to no good and I''m looking to find out whom. I would count it as a great service if you could get in and find out what you could."

    Cat smiled, Sneaking around rich folks houses? "That I can do."

    Adeline and Anya set about planning what they needed to do to prepare for the dinner. The napiform turned her body away from Cat, as if to exclude the urchin from the conversation. It was a slight to Cat that Adeline did not fail to notice.

    Why is she being so discourteous? Adeline felt like after all her time in mourning for her husband; her eyes were finally being opened. Something was wrong with how Anya treated people and with the liberties that she was taking more and more. Dravan has made some distressing comments about her¡­ could she be lucripetous[2]</a>? But¡­ wouldn¡¯t I have seen that?

    Lady MacNeal would have to put in a quick order for Anya¡¯s dress; otherwise, it wouldn¡¯t be done in time. The only reason I can have a dress made before the party tonight is because of my connections, but still¡­ the madam won¡¯t be happy. I¡¯ll have to provide a hefty bonus. She rang for the maid and began dictating the necessary preparations.

    Cat worried her worn and dirty trousers. "My lady?" She was so distressed by her question; she hadn¡¯t noticed Mary come into the room.

    "Yes, Cat?" Adeline made a note for Cat to be put in a bath and cleaned until she was presentable then handed it off to Mary. It is unfortunate that this dinner party is happening the same week that all the servants are on holiday. I should give Mary and Cook a longer leave. They¡¯ve been doing the work of forty people at least. Who knows what they aren¡¯t able to attend to. Knowing them, they are probably terribly upset everything isn¡¯t being appropriately handled.

    Cat spoke hesitantly, "The lord I delivered the other letter to, he said he would pay me a pound to tell him how you reacted to my letter." She hurried on, ¡°I didn¡¯t know you knew each other, I just said in front of him that I¡¯d be asking you to read my letter for me cause you had done me a good turn before.¡±

    Lady MacNeal gracefully raised an eyebrow, "Do you mind telling me the name of that lord?"

    Cat shook her head, "No, lady.¡± Cat held no allegiance to the lord, ¡°It was Lord Farcical."

    "Lord John Farcical? He received a letter like yours?"

    Cat wasn¡¯t connected enough to have heard the lord¡¯s Divine name, "Yes, lady, at least I believe so.¡± She almost shrugged, but changed the gesture to a more appropriate nod, ¡°They looked the same, but I couldn''t be certain on the print. He said it was the same."

    Adeline nodded, "You can tell him. His is an old schoolmate of my late husband. They served together in India as well. I''ll be interested to hear his reasons."

    Cat''s face blanched as she thought that she would be tasked to discover the lord''s thoughts.

    Adeline patted Cat''s knee warmly, "Don''t worry dear. I''ll ask him myself. That dear thelyphthoric[3]</a>is always up to no good."

    The lady made a small gesture and Mary began to lead Cat away. Cat followed obediently. She walked down the hallway, not certain where she was being led to. There was a photograph on a small table of a young man in his twenties, he looked like a younger Lord MacNeal, and so Cat assumed he was the lady¡¯s son. The man was in a dapper suit sitting next to Dravan, who was standing. The photograph was in a silver frame.

    Cat had met the lord of the house after the lady¡¯s son had died. When she met the old man he had a fire lit under himself and he had been passionate about discovering what had happened to his boy. Not for the first time, Cat wished she had parents like that. It would be a miracle of the Divine to have parents that cared about her wellbeing when she was in front of them, never mind caring after she had passed on.

    Someone to care what time I came home and what company I keep¡­ The closest Cat had was the Voice in the darkness. Only, the Voice couldn¡¯t be counted on to be there when she needed it¡­ or Weasel, whose kindness was self serving. He was ever trying to court her into his gang.

    <hr />

    [1]</a>Slender ¨C with the implication of ¡°gracefully slender¡±

    [2]</a>Money-hungry

    [3]</a>that which corrupts women

 B#1 - C#3

    The Blood Debt Chronicles:

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the third or How Lord Farcical Gets Involved and Cat Finds a Meal

    The grandfather clock struck the eighth hour. It was of Swiss design, as all the most impressive clocks were. An elaborate coo-coo rendition began to dance around the grandfather¡¯s face. John pulled out his pocket watch and checked to make sure it had the proper time, like he did every morning.

    Lord John Farcical was enjoying a friendly game of bridge with some of his fellow officers when the letter reached him. It was brought in the traditional way. The gentleman''s club was slow to change its ways in the face of modern conveniences. It was how the men of the club liked it. Old fashioned. A place to escape the feminine flourishes and new fangled momentum of the outside world.

    The club was also a place of power. Business was often conducted over cards or port. Why wouldn¡¯t it be? Everyone who had a say in the matter, anyone of importance was a member. A noble man who wasn¡¯t a member had made powerful enemies and was likely a beggar or soon to be.

    John opened the letter and read the request. The unveiling of a mummy - there seemed to be much of that going around, he mused. A medical examination, that was a new touch. All together quite common, he had been invited to three this month. Between his position in his family and his military rank, he was popular for parties. Lord Farcical turned the card over and frowned.

    John gestured and a servant was at his elbow, "Who delivered this, James?"

    The servant, whose name was probably not James, answered blandly, "One of the runners, my lord."

    Lord Farcical set the letter down next to his glass, "I would speak to the boy. Send him to my room. I will be along shortly."

    "Very good, my lord." The servant bowed and left to see to it. Whatever was causing servants to leave service throughout England, that problem hadn¡¯t touched the club.

    Lord Farcical finished his brandy and his card game before going to his rooms. This was pressing business, but it was bad form to leave in the middle of a hand. Lord John Farcical was not impolite, he was a gentleman. The servant could wait on him. It was the lad''s job after all.

    The room he kept at the club was one of comfort and masculinity. The chairs were great leather things that a man could sink into. They enveloped old war wounds and soothed them away. The furniture had been a gift from his dear old friend Edward, the late Lord MacNeal. It was only after Edward''s death that John realized that Edward had them enchanted to both alleviate the pain that John suffered, and stymie[1]</a>untruth in the immediate area. An enchantment that affected everyone in the area, himself included. Edward was that sort of man. It had been nimious[2]</a>, of that John was certain. Casters weren''t cheap. Even for the obscenely wealthy.

    What was truly odd about the set was that it had never had to be re-enchanted. To John¡¯s knowledge, no one had ever come by to cast anything in the rooms and John would know if someone came into his rooms. The enchantment would expire eventually, enchantments always did. That was the way of magic. The blood price or¡­ whatever it was¡­ only covered a certain amount of time, more of less depending on the spell and how much blood was shed. It was just strange it had lasted so many years.

    The urchin was standing in his room eating an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. The lad was small and scrawny, even for one of the street boys. His face had sharp angles that didn''t belong on a child. The boy froze when Farcical entered the room. Quickly he attempted to hide the partially eaten fruit among his filthy clothes. John frowned; the club typically insisted that their boys were cleaner than this. That cap he¡¯s holding looks more like a dirty rag than a proper hat.

    "Keep it." Farcical said, grabbing a second fruit - an orange this time - and tossing it to the boy. "I want you to eat those before you leave this room. I don''t want them being taken from you by a larger boy." He eyed the boy carefully, "It looks like every lad outside would be bigger than you."

    The urchin nodded, "Yes, yer lordship." The child held onto the fruit, but after a brief gesture from the lord, tore into it.

    Farcical began questioning the child, only to find that his knowledge was frightfully limited. "Who gave you the letter?"

    "Someone, I suppose."

    "A man? A woman?" Farcical began to be frustrated by how pauciloquous[3]</a>the boy was.

    The lad frowned, "They was..." A deep furrow appeared in his brow. "My memory''s a touch fuzzy. I think they was in a long cloak. One whit the hood pulled up." The urchin hesitated before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a second letter, "They gave me this and told me to read it when I got the chance. Only thing is, I can''t read. I was gunna ask Lady MacNeal to read it for me, cause she''s done me turns before."

    Lord Farcical held out his hand for the letter which the child handed him with great hesitation. "Your name is, ..., Cat?"

    "Yes, yer lordship."

    "Interesting. It is addressed to you." John frowned and then held his up next to the child''s, "They look about the same don''t you think."

    Cat nodded. Most letters looked the same to her. There were a few she knew; maybe a handful she had learned before running away and a few street symbols. She didn¡¯t even know enough to recognize her own name.

    Lord Farcical handed the letter back to Cat with one hand while he fished in his pocket for a shilling with his other. He came out with a pound coin. John shrugged and handed the coin to Cat. A shilling or a pound, it was the same to him. "Take your letter to the Lady MacNeal. If you tell me her reaction, I''ll give you another."

    Cat''s eyes practically glowed as she looked at the coin before it disappeared into her filthy clothes. "Yes, yer lordship."

    Lord Farcical watched the boy go and considered his options. Go or not go. He turned the card over in his hand, studying it, The real question is: did someone send me the warning as a trap to get me to come, or was the warning so I would come prepared? And if so, why do they want me?

    These were important questions. Lord Farcical wasn¡¯t a simple lord. He was independently wealthy, thanks to Edward encouraging him to buy stock in the East India Company, and he had remained wealthy thanks to his friend encouraging him to sell that stock before the Indian Rebellion. He didn¡¯t know how Edward had known and he hadn¡¯t asked. The man just knew things about that beastly hot country. John would never understand.

    When they had served in India, it had been ghastly for John. Edward however had enjoyed every minute. Of course, Edward had also had a beautiful wife on his arm, so it was hardly a surprise he would enjoy himself.

    John reclined in his chair, lost in thoughts of the old campaign days. India had been bloody hot and brutally humid, but John would give anything to be back there with Edward. His friend¡¯s death had been as catastrophic as it was expected. You can¡¯t poke a bear without getting mauled.

    After Edward¡¯s son, John¡¯s godson, had been murdered ¨C and it had been murder ¨C Edward had tore off to India. John had tried to go with him, had wanted to, in spite of the country, but Edward had said one of them needed to live to take care of Adeline.

    John had argued that if one of them should die for the boy, it should be his godfather. But Edward had put his hand on John¡¯s shoulder, looked him in the eyes and said, ¡°John, he¡¯s my son.¡±

    That was that. Edward had gone to discover what had truly happened. John couldn¡¯t go against Edward; he venerated his friend too much.

    Judging by his last letter and his steamer ¡°accident¡±, he probably had discovered just that. Unfortunately, it meant that Adeline lost her only son as well as her husband; and John lost his best friend.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    His last letter had been clear about the fact he was about to be murdered. Obviously, it hadn¡¯t read, ¡°John some bastards are about to have me killed¡± that would have most likely gotten John murdered too. No one who could murder someone that belonged to the House of Lords, a noble that was filthy rich and a decorated officer to boot would break a sweat getting John, even in the fortress that was the club. Hells, a network that connected probably has at least one member who belongs.

    But Edward had asked him to take care of Adeline and to make sure she was provided for. He had been doing just that. Not that there was much to do, Adeline was a savvy woman and now that she was in control of the finances, John was almost certain she had doubled her wealth and increased how much she was donating to the poor. All while in mourning. It was ludicrous.

    I hope he hadn¡¯t intended for her to be dirigible[4]</a>by me. John almost snorted at such an asinine idea. One of the club¡¯s servants knocked on the door. John closed the drawer and returned to his chair, ¡°Enter.¡±

    The servant entered. ¡°My lord, a lad who claims he saw you earlier is here. He says he has information for you.¡±

    John checked his pocket watch. The boy had been gone for quite a long time. More to the point, I was lost in thought for an unacceptably long time. ¡°Very well. I am ready for the boy.¡±

    The servant showed the lad into the room, asked if there was anything he could bring and then departed. The boy, Cat, John reminded himself, was now cleaned from head to toe. His face had the kind of pallor that women where constantly carrying parasols to maintain. It was actually a surprise to John. Most urchins have some color from being out of doors all the time. Perhaps the boy spends much of his days underground? It seemed far fetched, Or his layer of filth protected him from the sun.

    ¡°My lord,¡± the urchin began, her voice was stronger and she spoke with more confidence than earlier, ¡°you asked me to bring you word of the lady¡¯s reaction.¡±

    Lord Farcical was shocked. Where has boy¡¯s under-privileged speech gone? ¡°Yes, of course, please.¡± He nodded.

    Cat made a short bow before outlining the lady¡¯s response and how she had asked Cat to work the party. Cat didn¡¯t go into detail in what she had been asked to look into, merely that she had been asked to ¡®keep her eyes open¡¯. John noticed as he listened that the Cat was a good deal cleaner than she had been before. Was it the club, or Lady MacNeal¡¯s? He noticed how the urchin¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t stray to the fruit bowl. The lady¡¯s then. I bet she fed the child and gave it a bath too. Cat had good, solid, British blond hair with fair blue eyes. The child¡¯s eyes had femininely long lashes. Boy probably gets bullied a lot. I bet the lad is scrappy.

    Lord Farcical nodded. ¡°You didn¡¯t speak so clearly before, why?¡±

    Cat blushed and looked down, before lifting her eyes and meeting his, ¡°Well, my lord, my lady has personally worked with me before to learn how to speak properly, but¡­ it has been some time since I had been in her company. Seeing her again and being bathed reminded me of my manners I suppose.¡±

    John felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, ¡°Lady MacNeal does have that effect on people.¡±

    Cat smiled broadly, ¡°Aye, my lord, that she does.¡±

    ¡°Now, Cat, please indulge me. Do you remember the man that gave you the letter?¡± Maybe if I suggest something he will correct me¡­

    Cat shook her head, ¡°No, my lord, my memory is fuzzy and faded. All I remember is that the person was cloaked¡­ I think¡­ they had a hood?¡± She shook her head, ¡°Honestly, I couldn¡¯t be certain if it was a man or a woman.¡± She hesitated.

    ¡°What is it, lad? Anything you can remember is a help.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± she sighed, ¡°I don¡¯t know if this is really anything, but I feel like¡­ I feel like the person who gave me the letters, they was¡­ giving off¡­ exuding¡­ menace. Like they was a danger to me.¡±

    John noticed that the boy¡¯s speech was shifting back and forth from cultured to uncultured. It was as if the boy was trying to remember to be proper, something about the memory unsettled the lad enough that he reverted back to his ¡®mother tongue¡¯. John had experienced such things when he was an officer in India. If a truly traumatic event occurred, even if he was speaking to a local that spoke Imperial English, they would often either simply speak in their mother tongue, or speak a broken mixture. As if something about the trauma physically prevented rational thought.

    John tried to calm the boy¡¯s agitation, Edward is so much better at this than I, ¡°It¡¯s all right, lad. They probably ensorcelled you so that you can¡¯t remember. Don¡¯t try to remember, they may seek to do you harm if you remember.¡±

    Cat blanched.

    John offered Cat another fruit. She took one, but tucked it into her pocket for later rather than eat it. ¡°Thank you, boy. You may go now.¡± John gave Cat the coin and she departed. John had much to think on before the night came.

    John steepled his fingers, ¡°Well that seals it. If she¡¯s going then I must go.¡± John unfolded himself from his chair and went to look at his chest of drawers. There were many interesting bits from his time as an officer. There were guns, swords, knives, an aruvral, a parashu, gada, chakram of five different sizes and a vijaya. He may not have cared for the climate, but he admired the creativity with which the natives killed. Death was a necessary part, if unfortunate side effect, of war and he preferred to win.

    Most men that collected weapons displayed them, but for John they were weapons. Tools. He didn¡¯t like others to know what was in his bag of tricks. So he kept them tucked away. He had a private salon under these rooms where he regularly practiced with his tools.

    John was not a fat man.

    He tucked away a pistol, his eyes lingering on the knives. It would be impolite to come to a dinner bristling with knives. He picked up two of his knives and tucked them away; I¡¯ll have to be careful not to draw any blades in front of polite company. It wouldn¡¯t do to get a reputation as a vagabond. Using knife techniques in war is one thing, on the home front is quite another.

    John felt a mixture of envy and disgust for men who went to war and never saw combat. Men who never had to learn anything other than ¡°honorable¡± combat. It would be nice to look at another man without the knowledge of how to kill him most effectively springing to mind.

    Edward had never judged him for that. His mind had finally begun to settle down, and then Edward had died. The fear that hounded him, kept him keyed up and ready to kill had come back four fold after his friend¡¯s death. He knew that Edward wouldn¡¯t want John to risk his life avenging Edwards¡¯s death, and he wouldn¡¯t. But deep down, in the depths of his heart he hoped that Edward¡¯s request to protect Lady Adeline would give him the opportunity anyway. The living always takes precedence over the dead. Lady Adeline¡¯s safety would take precedence over all else. But combat was often chaotic. John was certain that if something happened, he would get an opportunity.

    <hr />

    [1]</a>a block or hindrance

    [2]</a>excess, extravagant

    [3]</a>uttering few words

    [4]</a>capable of being directed, steerable

 B#1 - C#4

    The Blood Debt Chronicles:

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Fourth or Why Dravan and Sarah Did Not Attend the Unveiling

    In the hours before dawn, Sarah prepared finger foods that wouldn¡¯t crumble or drip. Mainly, sandwiches, which had become all the rage about a hundred years ago, and were named after the Earl of Sandwich. Dravan had not come to their bed in the night, which meant he was likely to be hungry and wouldn¡¯t consider eating breakfast foods like eggs.

    He was particular about that, saying often, ¡°A man should only breakfast after he wakes up, breakfast isn¡¯t dependant on the time, but rather the state of a man¡¯s being.¡±

    It was odd, of course, but nobles were an odd breed. In her world, prior to meeting Dravan, breakfast was leftovers from the night before, assuming there were any. She had never known that there were people who only ate certain foods at certain times. How strange to be so wealthy that a body could afford such waste!

    Sarah brought the silver tray into the library. Dravan was sitting on a tall stool, his feet dangling far above the floor. He leaned over a crumbly old tomb. The pages were yellow with age and the edges were gilded with gold.

    ¡°Dravan dear, I need to go out to get groceries. I made you some food.¡± She set the tray down with one hand while taking his untouched supper with her other hand. ¡°Dear, you haven¡¯t eaten!¡±

    ¡°Sarah! Look at this!¡± He pointed at a line on the page. The words were written in a cramped tight hand.

    She read the line and then read it again. She was certain she had to be wrong, ¡°Does that¡­ does that say that they used to cast permanent spells?¡± That cannot be right.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Dravan exclaimed, ¡°Apparently, everyone could do it if they had access to some kind of blood. I¡¯m not certain what kind though¡­¡± His voice trailed off as he turned back toward the ancient pages.

    Two thoughts raced through her mind, ¡°Does that mean your casting on the kitchen could be permanent?¡± Whose blood did they tap into? The demons use the unwilling. Could this be¡­?

    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be. But I don¡¯t understand this yet. Maybe. The casting should only have lasted a week¡­¡± He trailed off, deep in thought.

    It¡¯s been six months. I think we can assume it isn¡¯t going by normal standards.  ¡°I¡¯ve noticed something about the casting that strikes me as rather strange as well.¡± She rested her elbow on her hip. The silver tray was heavy laden down with food Dravan hadn¡¯t eaten.

    He nodded for her to continue.

    ¡°The kitchen¡­ from your description of the casting¡­ I expected it to chill the food like an ice chest¡­ but it doesn¡¯t do that at all. The room is cool, but not chilled like winter. And the food seems to be¡­ maintained¡­ rather than preserved.¡± She fumbled for her words, ¡°I mean, if you salt fish it can still turn and the flavor changes. Or if you freeze some things¡­ it spoils the taste or alters it. But this¡­ I take something out and it¡¯s like I had just put it in. Almost as if no time had passed.¡±

    Dravan nodded, ¡°We should experiment with this.¡± He rubbed his hand on his chin. The few days of stubble rasped against his hand. ¡°Get something that we can tell how many days it has been. Fish, flowers or the like. Something with a strong smell.¡±

    She kissed him on the mouth and he smiled into her. ¡°I¡¯ll go pick something up. Please eat, love. You missed your last meal.¡±

    He nodded absentmindedly, turning back to the tome. A frown of concentration carved itself into his face.

    She sighed. He was gone to wherever he went when he thought. She placed a note with his food and a few in other strategic places, hoping that when he was brought back to his body for one reason or another that he would realize where she had gone. More likely, I will return before he lifts his head from the book again.

    Before leaving, she grabbed a bag from the kitchen. It had been in the room when Dravan had enchanted the kitchen and now it worked like a portable piece of it. It was spectacular for carrying delicate foods. If she had been a part of a great house, she would choose her fish and then send them home packed in ice, but Dravan lived in a boat docked on the Thames. There were no servants to answer the door and receive the fish, which meant that whatever fish she chose before the sun rose were with her for the rest of her shopping trip.

    She left the boat, stepping onto the dock where Tucker, a sturdy lad of sixteen was waiting. This was her usual day, so she had hired a weekly escort to carry the packages. Dravan allowed her free use of his wealth so that he would not be troubled by such things. Still, she hadn¡¯t hired a boy until he had seen her carrying the many bags in.

    He had remarked, coming over to assist her, ¡°Whatever lad you hired to carry the bags should be fired. He should at the least carry them into the boat for whatever you are paying him.¡±

    She had looked at him with surprise and then replied that he was right. She had engaged the service of a lad the next day.

    Sarah and Tucker exchanged pleasantries as they headed toward the fish market. At first the lad had been shy around her. She knew she was beautiful and lovely women tended to make young men incapable of speech. Later, she had learned that it had been as much that as it had been that Tucker hadn¡¯t known how to address her. Was she Magician Dravan¡¯s servant? His mistress? Could he purchase her services? Where did she stand in the world?

    She had made it clear that she was to be addressed as he would the mistress of a noble. Dravan wouldn¡¯t tolerate her dallying with other men now. Frankly, she couldn¡¯t stomach the idea either. It will be heartbreaking when he sets me aside. The thought had slunk into her mind before she could keep it out.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Sarah brushed some loose blond hair out of her face. The foul, unwashed stench of the fish market assaulted her senses. A few years ago, she wouldn¡¯t have noticed it. Now that she was with Dravan lots of things were different. Noticing the stink of her old home quarter was the least of those things.

    She selected her fish carefully. Her father had been a fisherman¡­ it felt like a lifetime ago. He wouldn¡¯t take her back after what she had done. She shook the thoughts away, refocusing on the fish. She knew what to look for so as to leave the bad or old fish for the inexperienced.

    Tucker grunted under the weight of all the fish she purchased. She had purchased enough for a lord¡¯s house. Of course, Dravan Cersideon was a noble in his own right and a mage on top of that. But he was an anomaly. He had given his estates to his younger sister and her husband to care for so he could focus on his studies. His residence on the Thames put him conveniently close to the Academy as well.

    ¡°Having a party miss?¡± Tucker asked.

    She shook her head, ¡°No. Just for Dravan and myself.¡±

    Tucker blanched. He couldn¡¯t fathom either eating that much or being so wasteful. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s a lot for two, miss.¡±

    It was. No one wanted fish on the second day. Except that Dravan had asked for fish and she was curious herself whether the kitchen would keep the fish from fouling. If it didn¡¯t¡­ either Dravan would do a casting to clear the stench or she would hire another mage to. There is no way I¡¯m living in a house with fouled fish again. Her childhood had not been¡­ pleasant¡­ and she wasn¡¯t going to sleep where she would be reminded of it in her dreams. ¡°Lord Dravan is performing an experiment.¡±

    A smile pulled at the lad¡¯s lips. Dravan was known for his experiments and the flashes of light that shone from the windows of the boathouse. ¡°Well, miss, I certainly wish him all the luck in the world.¡± He looked down at the bag holding the fish, before adding quietly, ¡°and you too.¡±

    From the fish mongers they went to an alchemist¡¯s. The old man had been making birth bane for her since she had come to London. Sarah didn¡¯t think Dravan wanted children. If he did he would marry a noble woman, someone from the peerage like himself. If I became pregnant the child would be a bastard and have no inheritance except a poor reputation.

    If she became pregnant, she would want to keep it. He would either insist on her losing it or throw her out. It was the way of men and nobles in particular. She knew many women who had found themselves turned out for that very reason.

    Lady Longfellow wasn¡¯t. A hopeful, traitorous whisper reminded her. Lord Longfellow is powerful enough to do as he pleases. She reminded herself dryly. Don¡¯t you think Dravan is? He gave up his seat in the House of Lords to his brother in law and then took it back after the man died. His influence in the Academy is impressive to say the least and that doesn¡¯t even consider his wealth and magical skill¡­ Dravan has always done as he pleases. That wasn¡¯t entirely true and she knew it. Dravan would rearrange the laws of the universe for someone he cared about.

    Sarah muzzled her hope. She folded up her dream and stowed it away. She could not bear to hope and see it dashed. Dravan was a good man, but at least Lady Scarlet had been a skilled courtesan. Sarah had been nothing more than a common prostitute who serviced the young men of the Academy. If she ever became pregnant, and she prayed to the Divine daily that she did not, she would take her savings and leave.

    Sometime later, Dravan sat poring over an ancient text. According to this, the magick artes were not as divine as his fellow magick users wished themselves to be. The Academy had taught him that the Divine had made the church and declared the church''s will to be His will. He had been taught as the church moved from forgiveness for crimes to payment for crimes so did the Divine. The concept of this paradigm had always seemed antipodes[1]</a> to him. This philosophy was why magick, which came from the Divine, was so structured. A magician did the right combination of things to put in a payment for his casting.

    Dravan had always thought it was strange. How could the Divine have changed His nature? The Divine had been in existence since before forever was a conceivable notion. Why would the Divine put his nature in the hands of willful, acerebral[2]</a>, barmecide[3]</a>, and fickle creatures?

    This text though, this book, it could be the key to everything! His great nephew, rest his soul, had sent it to him from India. According to this text... his thought was shattered by the sounds of someone giving a firm knock on his door. If it had broken his concentration, they had been knocking for quite a while and were not likely to go away. He sighed, straightened up and hopped down from his chair. He couldn''t do his work with some fool banging away.

    The barge swayed under his feet with the familiar rocking of the Thames. Dravan had been living on this barge for close to seventy years. Given that he wasn''t yet one hundred - it would be sometime this year he believed - he was still quite young for a gnome. The barge had been a gift from his father

    "Sarah?" Dravan called. He didn''t expect her to answer; if she had been here she would have answered the door on the first knock. It didn''t hurt to check though.

    He padded quietly to the hatch. It opened outward smoothly. Sometimes fools who had never been on a boat before would stand on it... He finished climbing up the ladder, stepped out and closed the hatch before looking at the child who had bothered him. "What do you want?" His scowl stretched into his voice.

    The boy hopped back, his eyes going wide. "My lord... uh... message for you, sir." He held out the card.

    Dravan snatched it from the boy and read the invitation. He flipped it over, read the warning without changing his expression, and flicked it into the Thames. They watched as the card was covered by the murky water. The boy took a step back, hesitation rigid through his body.

    "Dravan, dear!" Sarah, all curves, sashayed up the boardwalk a bouquet in her arms, with a shop boy panting after her and carrying her groceries. "Don''t terrorize the poor boy." She handed the lad a shilling, sensing his ereption[4]</a> before it came. She was used to boys from the street and understood his hunger for money came more from a hunger for food.

    "Thank ya, your ladyship." He ducked his head and ran.

    Dravan looked up at Sarah. She was the first crepuscular[5]</a> lady he had taken on as a student and she had always been the quickest and most able learner. She was a human of the British Empire; long legged, blond, with soft pale blue eyes. He looked away grumbling to himself, "I had to answer the door." She always filled him with the boyish urge to blush.

    Sarah sighed, taking the bags from the shop boy and handing him a shilling as well. "I told you I was going shopping."

    Dravan frowned, "You did no such thing."

    Sarah took the produce into the improvised kitchen, "I told you before I left," she raised her hand interrupting him, "I even made sure we made eye contact and that you acknowledged both that I was leaving and where I was going, you asked me to purchase fish for an experiment with the kitchen." Dravan''s grimace deepened, "I also left a note by your desk and put out a plate of food with another note."

    Dravan took an apple from the food she was putting away, "I remember no such discourse and saw no such notes."

    Sarah shrugged equanimity[6]</a> flowing out of her like she had done a casting, "I''m not surprised. You were deeply engrossed in your research." She kissed his lips gently, "I do like that about you."

    He smiled. His frustration and anger at being interrupted melted away. "That reminds me! Come look at what I''ve found."

    Sarah had finished putting away the cold goods; Dravan had placed castings on the cabinets to prevent insects, mold and spoiling. Though, there were some curiosities that he wanted to look into. If he wanted to show her something, she had plenty of time. She followed him to his small library and study. She saw the half eaten sandwiches on the tray she had brought him and made a mental note to clear it away.

    Sarah frowned at the musty tome. The faint scent of curry clung to the book and surrounding area. "What is it you found?"

    Dravan turned back the page and pointed to some markings, "Read this."

    Sarah''s eyes widened, "No wonder Edward, rest his soul, was murdered." It was custom to bless the dead whenever they were mentioned. The poor believed it would keep them from returning to interfere with the living.

    Dravan nodded, "This changes everything."

    [1]</a> diametrically opposite

    [2]</a> without a brain

    [3]</a> one who holds out illusory offers, or who promises but does not deliver, proffering a bounty only to withhold it until the profferer''s terms are met

    [4]</a> snatching away

    [5]</a> active at twilight, of the evening

    [6]</a> calmness, unconcern

 B#1 - C#5

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Fifth or Mr. Taurus Being Sent To London''s Underbelly

    It took some careful encouragement to convince Anya to leave the house. Not only had the woman stayed far longer than was appropriate, but also there were things that Adeline would need to set in motion that she needed no one to witness. She was a member of Society and her reputation was a currency more precious than gold.

    Originally, she had cultivated it at the request of her aged mother, who had been desperate to ensure Adeline married before Lord and Lady Cersideon passed into the realm of the Divine. However, on her tenth birthday while she was riding in the carriage with her many decades older brother, Dravan, she had looked out the window and seen a child curled against a wall. The waif was shivering in the pounding rain, sharp bones stood out in relief against the youths face. She had been horrified and said as much to Dravan.

    Adeline closed her eyes remembering the conversation vividly.

    ¡°Well,¡± her brother said looking up from his book, ¡°what would you like to do about it?¡±

    She had been confused, ¡°What would I like to do about it?¡± She replied turning the words over. ¡°I would like to stop the carriage.¡±

    He lifted his cane and knocked it against the roof of the carriage, ¡°Driver! Stop the carriage!¡± Then he turned his almond eyes back to her, ¡°What would you like to do next?¡±

    Adeline¡¯s eyes had widened. Adeline had never done something that she actually wanted to before. Her life was carefully scheduled to prepare her for the most agreeable marriage possible. Her mother had been eighty at the time and was well versed in the song and dance of Society. She considered for only a moment before replying, ¡°I would like to get out of the carriage, go to the child and find a safe place for them. A place that is warm, dry and has food for them to eat.¡±

    Dravan had one of the footmen bring an umbrella for the two of them to stand under and then walked her back to the child. The poor footman had wrung his hands while following behind; Dravan had ignored his attempts to encourage them back into the carriage. The waif had shrunk away from them as they approached. Before she had done anything Dravan had said to her, ¡°If you tend to this one¡¯s needs, there will always be more that are forgotten.¡±

    Adeline shook her head firmly, ¡°I¡¯m going to change that.¡±

    His eyes were steady, as if evaluating her, before a benevolent smile broke out, ¡°I do believe you are correct.¡± He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, ¡°It¡¯s your birthday Adeline, whatever you want to do, we shall do.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t been placating her. That was the day she purchased her first building and began renovating it to make it into an orphanage. Dravan had suggested she do one room at a time so the youths and their caretakers would have somewhere to stay as well. She had considered his suggestion before countering by offering to pay for anyone to stay at an inn. Dravan had agreed with the plan, it would be faster that way. At the time, Adeline hadn¡¯t understood the scope of money she was spending... or that her brother was spending for her. Dravan had casually handed over money or written notes for people to speak to his banker.

    Dravan had prompted some decisions and steered her clear of others, but largely he had her choose what was important and who would work on it.

    They had walked away from businesses that had attempted to insist on dealing with Dravan rather than Adeline. She had consulted the child, Matthew Tailor, on what he considered valuable. It had been heartbreakingly simple, warmth and food. She had insisted on hiring a doctor to be on call to the home and then asked Matthew to bring any friends he had. She had also ordered clothes and bedding to be delivered.

    Matthew Tailor had been the first of many to pass through those halls. Years later, she had helped him purchase his first shop. He now made all the uniforms for her household and for the households of many other nobles.

    Their mother had been horrified and embarrassed. Lady Cersideon had been lavish in her preparations only to have the birthday girl never arrive. Later, after Adeline and Dravan had finished her project they had arrived and both received a tongue lashing that, while delivered in a calm and pleasant tone of voice, could have peeled the plaster off the walls.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    That was the last time she let Dravan offer to take Adeline anywhere without an escort. Dravan was notorious for being easily distracted and utterly devoted to his little sister. If Adeline had leaned toward being spoiled, it would have ruined her character. As it was, her altruism could drain thousands of pounds from the family coffers. To Lady Cersideon, this was almost worse.

    Her passion, finances and reputation were still turned toward helping the poor, which meant that whatever happened tonight at the soir¨¦e she had to be prepared to walk away if it put that in jeopardy. Like Dravan, only her family was more important. Which meant that if she was going to properly prepare for the night to come, she would need to flex some contacts in directions that it was better if people didn¡¯t know about.

    As her mother had said before her passing, ¡°A good reputation takes a lifetime to build and a moment to destroy. Be careful who you sacrifice it for.¡±

    ¡°Wise words, mother.¡± Adeline murmured folding her hands delicately and taking a moment to consider which contacts she should alert.

    She turned her eyes to a row of silver bells. Symbols Adeline had never been able to discern, were elegantly etched around the rims of the bells. The handle of one in particular, a rich mahogany, had a name engraved into it in a clear copper plate. "Mr. Taurus" Her son, Edward the Younger had made them. He took after his grandfather, Adeline''s father, in his strong mechanically minded mind. His magical skill was avuncular[1]</a>, Dravan to be exact. Fortunately, he was the spitting image of his father or unfortunate and erroneous accusations might have sprung up. These thoughts sprang painfully to mind when Adeline picked up the first invention he had ever given her.

    Adeline rang the bell with a flick of her wrist. Then set it down. It was painful to hold it, as full of memories as it was. However, it was terribly convenient and she could never part with a gift her son had given her.

    Not long after, she heard Mr. Taurus clomping down the hall. He was whistling a bawdy, old, sailing song. Which was strange since according to him, he was from the highlands where they raised sheep and he had never set hoof on a ship. It was a part of his past he adamantly refused to speak about and consistently made her worry that he had been in the navy.

    Adeline had heard that her Majesties Navy had a lamentable habit of enlisting men against their will. According to her sources, if a man became too deep in his cups, he was likely to find himself upon a naval vessel leagues from shore when he awoke and leagues from freedom. Men who found themselves in pressed into such service where unlikely to ever be free of the navy. It was a sort of legal slavery. Ironic, since the British Empire had fought so hard to abolish slavery, that the very forces that defended the empire were conscripts.

    Since Mr. Taurus took his work very seriously, she assumed this was most likely the case. Were such an accusation ever proven, he would be executed for deserting. She couldn''t protect him from such a charge, but she could dissuade it from ever coming to fruition. Part of that was keeping him from interacting with anyone of consequence who wished her ill. It wasn¡¯t truly hard, he was a coachman. The only people he spoke to were in house or of such a birth that they would not be able to touch him.

    Mr. Taurus entered the parlor. He was five feet tall, with short, stumpy legs and horns that had been clearly trimmed down to fit inside her ladyship''s home. Gold caps, which protected the cut horns, were engraved with dwarfish runes. He was tall for a Highland minotaur, which were commonly between four and four and a half feet tall. Silky red fur covered him from the rim of his horns to the tops of his hooves. It spilled from his collar and cuffs. Adeline had once mistakenly introduced the subject of trimming his hair. It had never been broached again.

    "My lady." He bowed slightly, standing at attention.

    Adeline smiled, "Mr. Taurus." She held out the dinner invitation, "I shall be dinning out tonight. Miss Anya will be accompanying me."

    "Very good, my lady." He bowed, turning away.

    "Mr. Taurus." Her voice was soft, but commanding. It should have irritated her that he moved to leave before being dismissed, but she hadn¡¯t employed him because of his manners or skill as a coachman.

    He turned back, returning to attention, "Yes?" His soulful brown eyes expressed neither concern nor anxiety. He had not even glanced at the invitation.

    "Thieves are expected." She said gravely.

    He smiled, a warm flush lighting him up, "Excellent, my lady!" His whole body loosened with a graceful ease that made him seem infinitely more dangerous.

    She lifted her hand cutting off his argument before it had started, "I''ll have no argument with you." She paused, his words and tone registering. "What was that Mr. Taurus?"

    He spoke softly, his voice straining against the paroxysm[2]</a> that was bubbling inside, "I enjoy my work, my lady." His hands, by his sides as he stood at attention, flexed with excitement.

    She nodded, not certain what could be said to that, "The good doctor already knows we are attending. Now, if you have time, I would like you to take a few pounds down to some of the places I cannot go and see if you can hear anything."

    "I will have to drink, so as to not arouse suspicion."

    "You are a Scotsman, Mr. Taurus. I dare say you could drink a barrel of ale and be fit to work. Just make sure you are." Many of Adeline''s peers considered it to be the height of foolishness to hire one of the procellous[3]</a> Scotsmen. Some believed she hired him because she was charitable, others because she was rodomontade[4]</a> regarding either her compassion or her security. Adeline believed that people were people and good people could come from anywhere the Divine had placed his hand. Anyway, she had married a Scotsman and her son had been half Scots.

    "Yes, my lady." Mr. Taurus accepted the coins she held out to him. He was grateful she gave him a mixture of small coins. It meant this was a premeditated action on her part. It also meant it was more likely to work. He couldn''t bring a pound note down where he would be going. His people never saw that much at once.

    With the coins in his pocket he headed out. He would have to work carefully to not get himself mugged. He changed into the clothes he wore to visit old friends. Closer to rags really, but there was a reason he wouldn''t let the maids toss them.

    [1]</a> In the manner of an uncle. In this case in the manner of a specific uncle, Edward¡¯s uncle Dravan.

    [2]</a> an explosive outburst

    [3]</a> stormy, tempestuous

    [4]</a> arrogate boasting

 B#1 - C#6

    Mr. Taurus went to the most prominent beastman tavern in London. The Raging Cock, known for its animal fights in the cellar, was one of six taverns in all of London that was owned by a beastman. At five feet Mr. Taurus was tall for a Highland Minotaur... and pathetically short for a London beastman. Most of the beastmen that patroned this tavern were around seven feet. The occasional ogre that came in were around eight.

    Mr. Taurus punched his way to the bar. He knew that if he wanted villains instead of cheep beer he needed to pay admission to the basement. Of course, that wasn''t to say he didn''t want to have a chat with Fred the bartender. Fred heard everything that could be heard this part of town.

    "What can I do you for?"

    With his snout just over the bar he replied, "A pint and-"

    Fred cut him off, "Georgie!" His eyes, which had been focused on Mr. Taurus were now focused much higher.

    Mr. Taurus was ready to sock whoever had taken the bartender''s attention. It had been the work of blood and sweat - other people''s blood, his sweat - to get this far. He turned around and came face first with George''s belt buckle. The ogre was massive and almost twice Mr. Taurus''s size. He decided to let George finish his conversation with Fred.

    The ogre moved passed him without noticing him. Mr. Taurus ground his teeth without noticing. "Fred, George needs your help?"

    The ogre was simple, that was certain.

    "Georgie! I heard about your mum. How are you holding up?" Fred grabbed a wooden tankard and knocked it against the wall, calling for milk.

    "Fred, George found this little girl and George was trying to find her heart."

    Mr. Taurus craned his neck back. The ogre was holding a lizard and given its chirping it probably was one of those exotic lizards from Africa. He had heard they were smarter than a dog (commoner according to high society) and well worth their 300? price tag. However, the comment about finding her heart made no sense. The creature was clearly alive, to not have a heart it would have to be dead or something of that nature.

    "This guy must be an idiot bringing such a valuable creature here," He thought. Looking at the ogre again he noticed the odd shape of his face. It was hard to see from below the man''s belt buckle, but he was certain of it. Mr. Taurus waited for their conversation to finish before he made his request to Fred. Slipping a coin to the barkeep he headed towards the secret entrance to the fights.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    He found George wandering in front of the secret entrance when he arrived. While the ogre was petting the lizard and looking away at something, Mr. Taurus snuck past him into the cavern bellow. Mr. Taurus mused that the coins he gave Fred were probably for nothing. The old beastman had been so distracted, he couldn''t be certain he had even heard his request.

    The smell of blood and the yips of pain reached him before he saw the dog fight. Normally, they had ratters to catch rats so they could pit the dogs against a horde of rats. But today was odd. Two dogs in the same ring. Someone had paid a lot of money to see two dogs fight.

    Mr. Taurus placed his bets cautiously. Something he could lose at without looking like a rube. He knew that a nab that was winning drew envy, but a man that was just south of even was someone the fellows could talk to. He had just started up a conversation with a few lads when a shot was fired. The din of gambling men changed in an instant to a mad rush of men fleeing a crime. Dog fighting was illegal, as were all blood sports. Anyone caught would have a serious problem. They were fleeing like their tails were on fire.

    Mr. Taurus cursed. It was a huge disappointment. He used his broad shoulders to force his way to a back exit he knew of. After his time on the ship, he didn''t go anywhere without an exit strategy.

    His exit left him in an empty street. He looked around, seeing no one he stuck his hands in his pockets and began sauntering home. As he passed by an alley he heard a rustling sound. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, hoping to not be noticed.

    "Mr. Taurus!" Cat called.

    Mr. Taurus swore under his breath, "Kitten, lad. Why are you on this side of town?"

    "Quick! Mr. Taurus, my friend needs your help."

    Mr. Taurus hurried over to her. Inside the alley was Georgie, the very large ogre. Mr. Taurus crouched by the ogre. The ogre had blood on his shirt, when Mr. Taurus looked for the source of the blood there was a bullet hole in the shirt, but the ogre''s skin was pink and healthy.

    The lizard chirped as he poked around. Mr. Taurus knew Frenzy Lizards were magical, but could they heal? This was certainly magical in nature and Dravan would want to know about it.

    "Kitten," he held out a few coins, "please request Master Dravan''s assistance. Have a sturdy coach, one that can haul this man, come to fetch us. Tell Master Dravan that I would not request his presence lightly. Now go lad."

    Mr. Taurus watched Cat run off. Once the lad was gone, he began trying to search the ogre, but the lizard was having none of it. They were obliged to wait for Dravan and his carriage.

 B#1 - C#7

    It was a day of interruptions. Mr. Taurus knew better than to bother Dravan with frivolous things, so, Dravan was furious and yet extremely curious. To top it off, the lad, Cat, was useless as excited as he was.

    Dravan was glad that Sarah was talking with Cat, but then it meant he didn''t have her comforting presence. Not that he was afraid, no. He was a practitioner of the arts and a lord in his own right. He didn''t have time to fear the open spaces of the world! He also made sure he didn''t have too much business out in the world. The carriage Cat had procured was so large his feet didn''t touch the floor and that, on top of everything else, made him rather cross.

    The berlin carriage[1]</a>stopped in a rather poor area of London. Dravan saw Mr. Taurus standing beside the largest ogre he had ever seen. The ogre was curled on his side with Mr. Taurus standing behind the ogre. Mr. Taurus'' head, and only his head, were above the ogre''s shoulder. The ogre was etiolated[2]</a>.

    "Master Dravan, I have touched very little. I knew you would want to see for yourself." Mr. Taurus said coming around to the other side of the ogre.

    Dravan inspected the wound, the shirt, and the lizard. His movements were curiously gentle. The lizard was at first displeased to have Dravan poking about, but soon the lizard calmed and became resigned. He preformed a small casting on the ogre to gain some additional information. He considered using the ogre''s blood that had already been spilled, but the blood was old, stale and unusable. He flicked out a small blade and nicked his arm. The blood oozed out of his skin, but with each word of his incantation the blood boiled away until the casting was completed.

    Finally, Dravan enhanced Mr. Taurus'' strength so that he could lift the ogre into the carriage. Even with the enhanced strength it took some doing. The ogre was quite large and not meant to be lifted while unconscious.

    Though Dravan''s first instinct was to take the ogre to his boat house for experimenting, Sarah cut his thought off, "That is quite a lot of blood on the ground, should he be checked out by a doctor?"

    Dravan hesitated, "The ogre appears to be no longer injured." It frustrated him to have a weakness but, "I do not have sufficient medical knowledge to be certain. Sarah, what physician would you recommend we adjourn to?"

    Sarah had been taking notes of every mumble and poke of Dravan''s. She rattled off a list of doctors before adding, "Doctor Tolstoy is visiting from Russia. He currently resides at the university as a guest lecturer. I understand he was invited by the Queen, in spite of the current conflict." She was quiet for a moment while she considered some additional information, "Although he hasn''t used the services of any of the ladies, there is nothing but praise being spoken."

    "Praise?" Dravan looked up.

    Sarah smiled, "Both two-edged and conventional."

    "Mmh." He considered her suggestion for a moment, "Doctor Tolstoy''s residence."

    Mr. Taurus popped his head into the berlin, "My apologizes Master Dravan, but I must make my way back to Lady MacNeal."

    Dravan nodded. "Be on your way then." The carriage pulled away from the alley leaving behind Cat - whom Sarah had given a shilling for his trouble - and Mr. Taurus who was rapidly leaving the alley behind himself.

    From Dravan''s cursory looks a few things were clear. The ogre had been shot, from the blood on his clothes he had bled for quite a while. There had been blood in the alley as well, so the bleeding hadn''t stopped until after the ogre had reached it. Given the ogre''s size, he had most likely come under his own power, as opposed to being dumped.

    Dravan''s casting informed him that the ogre''s healing had been done in a way that the Academy considered impossible. Someone or something had used Hedge magic on the ogre increasing his natural healing rate until he recovered. Given how healed the wound was, Dravan deduced the Hedge mage was incredibly powerful.

    "The lizard hasn''t moved from his chest. I doubt anyone could have gotten close enough to heal him while he was dying." This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Dravan shook his head holding up two fingers, "First, the lizard let me examine the ogre, so it probably would have allowed someone to heal him." He put one finger down, "Second, Hedge magic can be performed at a distance. It depends on the caster. If can be done through singing or potions or by the caster laying their hands on the intended. The method the caster accesses their power limits the uses. If you can''t touch something you cannot lay on hands, if they cannot hear you, singing has no merit."

    "What about the blood price?"

    That was one of the great problems with Hedge magics. Its great consistency was how inconsistent it was. Some, alleged, Hedge mages had to spill blood to make their castings work and others didn''t. Every Academy mage had to spill blood. The question Academy mages always asked was, "If I didn''t see your blood flow, whose blood spilled?"

    However, given what Sarah and Dravan were learning from the book young Edward sent there were other possibilities. The caster could know how to access the Divine blood. Or he could have used the ogre''s own blood. Now that Dravan knew about accessing Divine blood, Hedge mages made a deal more sense. Some people could access it and others couldn''t. Even among people who could access it, some didn''t always have access it.

    "We won''t know who would want to heal him until he wakes up."

    The carriage jerked to a stop. The driver opened the door for them and then handed Sarah out. The university had given Doctor Tolstoy an apartment near the hospital wing. There was a small garden by the entrance surrounded by a ha-ha[3]</a>. The garden seemed recent and useful. It had herbs in it that were no longer used in medicine, since it was understood that science had trumped their use.

    Doctor Tolstoy was emerging from his apartments dressed in evening wear. His English hat sat awkwardly on his large ursine head. Fur covered hands straightened his tie. His fur looked dingy and grey surrounded by the soot of London.

    "What is your need? I''m on my way to a soiree."

    "I need you to examine an ogre that was shot."

    The doctor hesitated for a brief second before he began rolling up his shirt sleeves. He gestured toward the hospital, "Bring the ogre here."

    Dravan enchanted the driver and two orderlies with additional strength so that they could carry the ogre into the hospital. Doctor Tolstoy''s paws were delicate as he used his claws to pull back George''s shirt. He looked at the wound for a few moments before speaking to one of the orderlies. He turned back to Dravan, who had waited in the examination room, "I will look after the ogre. You can expect my findings in the morning. At the moment he is stable and I have other matters to attend."

    Dravan thought to press the beastman, but Sarah put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Very well." Dravan grumbled, "I expect your diagnosis first thing tomorrow."

    The doctor nodded his great furred head before leaving to climb into his own carriage. The carriage groaned under the doctor''s weight. Polar bears were not known for their thinness and neither were beastmen of the polar bear variety. Doctor Tolstoy''s gut and fluffy face would remind anyone of Saint Nicolas. However, Alexei Tolstoy was known for his insatiable desire to solve puzzles, not his charitable heart. That was his identical twin sister Nicole, who was coincidentally why he had fled Russia in disgrace. People were always confusing the two of them and her "good deeds" were almost always revolutionary in nature. A great sigh escaped him. He missed mother Russia terribly.

    This country is too warm and the air too toxic for my liking. Alexei thought settling into his carriage.

    He let out another sigh. He worried for his sister. She was crusading for something... he paused to remember it, ah yes! Woman''s rights. Silly really, women had plenty of rights in Russia, they were even wearing trousers instead of petticoats! Not here, he amended. Great Britain did seem to be behind the times.

    The ogre''s healed wound not withstanding, the night promised to be riveting. He was intrigued by the prospect of seeing the dissection of a mummy. As a doctor he had access to living bodies to pull apart. While he was the tsarina''s personal doctor and now as a guest at the British university he had access to recently dead bodies, but who had the pleasure of seeing or performing an autopsy on a corpse that was thousands of years old? His great bear maw stretched into a smile, Tonight promises to be quite instructive.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>A type of covered four-wheeled traveling carriage with two interior seats.

    [2]</a>Pale and drawn

    [3]</a>A boundary to a park or garden, usually in the form of a fence sunk in a ditch. (Clearly some official thought that if a fence marks a border and a ditch marks a border then together it would be twice as official. In reality, the ditch hides the fence and the fence confuses the ditch.)

 B#1 - C#8

    Mr. Taurus'' news about the tavern, or lack thereof, was disappointing but hardly unexpected. It seemed to Lady MacNeal that if anyone was going to talk it would most likely be after the caper. Assuming the thugs aren''t murdered. Adeline hated that she thought that, but her time working with the poor had taught her that often the jobs that paid handsomely would go terribly wrong for a young man who couldn''t afford morals. Of course, she didn''t know the thugs were promised they would be paid well, but to break into a upper middle class home during a party that attracted nobles, she certainly hoped they were paid well.

    Mr. Taurus saw the pained expression on her face and patted her arm, "You never know Miss, it could be a single bloke sneaking in and stealing something from the upper floor."

    Adeline attempted a laugh that felt hollow, "Dear Mr. Taurus, you know me so well."

    Mr. Taurus smiled, "Only you would worry for the safety of the thieves."

    While Mr. Taurus assisted her into the carriage she considered how curious it was that the soiree was targeted at all. Anyone willing to pay real money received their goods from a reputable dealer, an enthusiast who had fallen on hard times or on a dig. It was very in vogue to be an amateur archeologist. However, the idea of actually stealing from another''s collection was absurd. A thief couldn''t display his ill-gotten gains, or he would be caught immediately. Nor could a blackguard sell it for similar reasons.

    What Adeline couldn''t figure out was what other plausible reason there could be to steal an artifact. And why at a soiree? I thought bandits didn''t want witnesses. Unless, she paused as they rumbled over a particularly uncoordinated bit of cobblestones, perhaps the thieves had the guest list? It was possible that there could be some rather wealthy individuals. After all, I''m coming, and despite my best efforts I''m still filthy rich. She smiled, Edward did well for himself.

    The carriage rolled to a stop. Anya had wanted to meet at Adeline''s, but Lady MacNeal refused. After all, she couldn''t have Anya walk all the way in the new clothes Adeline had purchased for the soiree when she owned a perfectly good carriage. "Anya! How is your mother? Getting better?"

    Anya thumped into the carriage like a sack of potatoes, the elegant skirts struggling against Anya''s insistence for impropriety. "The priest has been praying over her every Sunday, but he insists that she has a great sin she needs to confess before the Divine will stretch out His hand to heal her. The doctor''s tonics help a good deal more, but Dravan doesn''t have enough work for me to stay there." Anya''s face twisted in a grimace.

    Lady Adeline shook her head in a slow sad motion, "I do wish you would let me help your mother. I could hire you for a time, or if you prefer, I could pay your mother''s medical bills. I could even get her into the university hospital."

    Anya frowned, "No. You have no need for a secretary and I''ll not have your charity. I''ll take your friendship, but naught else."

    Adeline found Anya''s stubbornness to be equal parts amusing and dangerous. Adeline had the money to save Anya''s mother, but her hands were tied without Anya''s acceptance. It was something she had learned working with the poor of London. She couldn''t force her help on people. She could offer it, extend it, but they had to take hold of it themselves.

    Still, it seemed queer that Anya would let her buy clothes for the soiree, but not let her buy medicine for an ailing woman. Perhaps, while Anya was at work, she would send Cat over with a ''get well'' basket? That was proper and not charity at all.

    Mr. Taurus opened the carriage, "My Lady, we are arrived." As Adeline stepped out he whispered, "I''ll be about keeping an eye out for the

    crooks."

    Cat held one of the horses'' bridals. The plan servants clothes were designed to blend into the background, but Adeline had trained herself to notice the unnoticed. Cat gave her a wink.

    Adeline nodded slightly, making her way to the door of the Pickering residence and presented her invitation to the butler. The butler was the image of gentlemanly behavior and quite well groomed. Like Jeeves. She thought sadly. Unlike Jeeves, this butler was a Gnome.

    The butler, a Mr. Bryne, looked at her with surprise when she presented her invitation, but with a quick look at the bottom he gave a relaxed sigh and let her in. With her height advantage, Adeline could see that although her name was on the list, it had been added in what appeared to be haste. Written in the same hand, she could see her name was a touch cramped on the bottom of the page.

    Mr. Bryne announced Lady MacNeal and Miss Anya O''Mally to Dr. and Mrs. Pickering. Their hosts warmly received Lady MacNeal. "Our condolences for the loss of your husband and son."

    Lady Adeline nodded her thanks. It had been years, but she still dressed in mourning colors. Tonight she was in an elegant deep purple dress with accents of lavender. It was unpleasant to have people constantly offering their condolences, but that was the trade off for continuing to publicly mourn. "Your invitation said you would be doing a dissection of the mummy?"

    Mrs. Pickering began to fret, her downcast eyes almost rising to meet Lady MacNeal''s for a moment before dropping back to the ground, "I hope it won''t offend your sensibilities!"

    Lady MacNeal laughed softly, "Indeed not. I would have sent my regrets if I thought I couldn''t stomach the investigation."

    Anya had slipped through the receiving line with barely a handshake on her way to the library where all the trophies were displayed. But then she wasn''t saturated with wealth either.

    Courtly manners seems attracted to wealth in an alarming fashion. It is almost as if the more capital a person has, the more manners are afforded to them. Adeline thought to herself, excusing herself from her hosts and making her way after Anya into the library. The library encompassed much of the ground floor, which as a bibliophile, Adeline appreciated. However, to her dismay, an unwholesome amount of the library was taken up with displaying the artifacts Dr. Pickering had brought home with him instead of proper books.

    There were bookcases, of course. Large, heavy bookcases lined the walls of the library. Their subjects ranging from the mundane medical text to the history, architecture, and burial rites of ancient Egypt. The bookcases were tall enough to necessitate a wheeled staircase, which presently rested folded up against the far wall.

    Several French doors in the outer wall led to a comfortable balcony. The doors were closed against London''s daily crepuscular and creeping, inclement[1]</a>of penetrating fog. The was a door tucked up near the wheeled staircase. It was closed, most likely to keep curious guests from wandering where they didn''t belong. Always a challenge, Adeline lamented. There was always someone trying to poke about where they didn''t belong.

    A steady and strong fire blazed in an ornately carved stone fireplace, set into the inner wall. Once again limiting space for bookshelves.

    Adeline liked the rather clever way the glass cases were nestled between bookcases and placed in a pleasant manner throughout the middle of the library. Large, glass-fronted cabinets displayed tall items, including several animal mummies, stone statues and chunks of colorful frescoes cleft from the tomb walls. Glass cabinets allowed Adeline and others to get a closer view of the many smaller, flat objects: bits of papyrus scrolls, collars of gold and lapis lazuli, rings set with carnelians, pottery shards, decorated axe heads, and many blue faience[2]</a>amulets in the shapes of miniature gods, mummies, ankhs, scarabs, and wadjet eyes[3]</a>.

    After a quick overview of the other objects, Adeline found herself drawn to the display''s centerpiece, the mummy Dr. Pickering was to dissect. It was standing upright on a special frame, the dancing flames from the fire casting an otherworldly glow on it. The ornately carved and bejeweled sarcophagus lid was impressive. Behind the sarcophagus stand was a medical examination table and surgical tools. A shiver went down Adeline''s spine. The longer she stood in the presence of the mummy, the more unease she felt.

    Adeline was unfamiliar with much of the Egyptian works, in spite of being the British Museum''s primary donor. Her husband, Edward, had been a Colonel and served in India with Lord Farcical - one of his Lieutenant Colonels. Edward''s sister, Josephine, currently lived in India. India is where little Edward was... killed. With so much of her life tied up in the country, it was no surprise that her home was an elegant cross between British and Indian culture. The only thing she refused to have in her house was snakes. She abhorred serpents. Her revulsion was unfortunate given the theme of the evening. The sarcophagus she was standing before was covered in etchings of twisting, coiling, striking and writhing vipera[4]</a>.

    Anya appeared at her elbow, "Adeline, this is quite strange." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "What is?" Adeline said, turning slightly toward Anya.

    "All of the pieces Dr. Pickering brought back from his most recent dig have snakes on them."

    Adeline shivered. "Oh?"

    Anya sighed, "I know you don''t know anything about Egypt, but really. Egypt has no gods that are represented by a serpent. Ra sometimes has a snake because in the mythology he was bitten by a cobra, but that''s it. Only the monster Apep was a serpent."

    "This is a very ornate coffin to have carvings of a monster."

    "Yes." Anya nodded firmly, "I believe that whoever is inside must have belonged to a cult of the monster Apep."

    "Could that have any bearing on the theft? Perhaps the cult lives and they wish to awaken their master?" Adeline glanced around the room, "Can you tell how many of the artifacts are real and how many are fakes?" It was a common problem that the museum was constantly spending great deals of money trying to verify their artifacts were authentic.

    Anya''s eyes gleamed with lucripetousness[5]</a>, "Every artifact with the snakes is real, past that it is about fifty-fifty. Which is very impressive."

    "How can you tell?"

    Anya launched into an overly complicated explanation Adeline did not bother to follow closely. Her explanation was on par with Dravan''s when he spoke of magic and he felt like she hadn''t given him the respect due to an older brother.

    This... superiority... from Anya was new and Adeline found she did not care for it. "Interesting. Well, learn all you can and keep a weather eye out."

    Adeline was neither the first, nor the last guest to arrive. Mr. and Mrs. Robert arrived after Mr. Taurus pulled away, as well as Dr. and Mrs. Tweeden and a beastman she had never been introduced to. The beastman was a polar bear, certainly rare in England. He was clearly foreign and a hyperborean[6]</a>. He spoke loudly and with confidence. He was a man who gave orders and rarely took them. Judging by his accent, he must be Russian. Since Russia was currently at war with Britain, and Russians were uncommon, this could only be the renowned surgeon Dr. Tolstoy.

    She longed to speak to him, to introduce herself, but such an action would be so inappropriate as to be inconceivable. She could only hope that perhaps her host would introduce her before whatever unpleasantness broke out. She sighed, turning around only to come face to face with Lord Farcical.

    "Lady MacNeal! My days have been dark and lonely without a glimpse of your radiant smile. Just the sight of you has made me redivivus[7]</a>!" He kissed the back of her hand, "I''m glad someone was able to talk you out of your seclusion."

    "Thank you for your concern, Lord Farcical. Your flattery however has fallen on ears too old to perceive it." But she said it with a slight smile ruining her admonition. She added, frankly, "I can always count on you to brighten my day."

    A boyish grin spread across his face, "Well now you''ve spoiled the game! I should never know when I am receiving a rebuke in jest or in truth." He nodded to the other party-goers, "This is a rather quaint soiree, is it not?"

    Adeline nodded.

    "Pity about the thieves."

    Adeline started. Her eyes flashed to Lord Farcical. Of course Cat had told her that Lord Farcical had received a note of his own, but she didn''t think he would be so bold. "What do you know of these supposed thieves?"

    He shook his head in mock sadness, "Presently? Nothing. But I brought my pistol just in case."

    Mr. Gerald Tweedle, who had been speaking with Lord Longfellow, disengaged himself and came to their conversation. "My Lady," he said bowing over her hand, "my condolences for your husband." Gerald was the head curator of the British Museum and very aware whose hand it was that fed him. He was a Gnome, like Dravan, and even though he was on the tall side, he still had to crane his neck back to look at Lady Adeline properly.

    Adeline smiled sadly, "Thank you, Mr. Tweedle. I hope our new wing is seeing good use?"

    "Oh, yes! I''m trying to gather enough artifacts of each Egyptian god to justify an exhibit, but it had been hard going, you know, as soon as someone hears what you are interested in, all manner of counterfeits are being made. Why, just this week I had to turn away twelve pots of Sobek because they were fakes. Which is truly a shame because there has been so little found of him."

    "Perhaps you would care to speak to Miss Anya? She has a rare eye and can spot a counterfeit a mile away."

    "If she is an acquaintance of yours then I would be delighted."

    Adeline pointed Anya out. She was bent over a glass case that contained rather ornate golden clasps that were holding a delicate piece of papyrus. She was murmuring furiously to herself. Mr. Tweedle nodded his thanks and left to continue his tour around the room.

    Captain Reginald Carrington slapped Lord Farcical on the back, making him stagger a few paces, "John, my boy! I haven''t seen you at the club in weeks, where have you been?"

    John Farcical regained himself, "I assure you Reggy, I jolly well live at the club."

    As the two began recanting old war stories, Adeline excused herself. Captain Carrington reeked of whiskey in a rather unhealthy way and she didn''t care for how he swayed improperly close to her.

    She walked the short distance to a case holding a mummified cat. It pained her to see the creature bound up and gawked at for all eternity, but there was a part of her that understood. A loyal friend, prepared to stand by you in the afterlife as they did on earth. There is something quite romantic about that notion. "Where is your master?" she murmured, leaning in close.

    Mr. Robert, disengaged from his wife, came to join her at the glass case. Though he was not currently smoking, the stale smell of tobacco clung to his clothes and waifed from his lips when he spoke. He threw off a foul smell that seemed to be headed directly for her refined and delicate nose. "Good evening. Pity it weren''t more engaging." His words contrasted with the way he peered intently at the mummified feline.

    "I am enjoying it rather much." She glanced down at his right hand which was miming holding a pipe, "You seem to enjoy that mundungus quite a deal."

    Mr. Robert, a short and stout dwarf, ran his eyes up her, "Why thank you. Yes, I do."

    He didn''t seem to perceive her slight, which is just as well. She didn''t care for rudeness, but... His pipe tobacco is just so foul! Edward at least found tobacco that didn''t smell so atrocious! Anyway, she didn''t care for the way he looked at her. She wore her mourning clothes past the time necessary because she still mourned her husband''s death and because she didn''t want men hounding her.

    Lord Longfellow, a luminary[8]</a>, came to her rescue with his wife Lady Scarlet on his slender, elven arm. "My dear Lady Adeline! I''m so glad to see you out mucking about with us poor, common folk." He smiled kindly.

    He isso very supportive of my work with the poor. Adeline smiled, inclining her head. "Well, if you and your lovely wife had but asked, I would have graced your presence long ago." Adeline always enjoyed seeing what Scarlet would wear. It was far too provocative for a woman of Adeline''s experience and station. Yet, there was a definite class in the way the young woman carried herself that Adeline couldn''t help but adore. She was so kind, even when harpies were swarming her and picking at her for her supposed past. Adeline didn''t know if the rumors were true, but if they were, Adeline wasn''t so arrogant to believe herself above fault, and her work with the poor had taught her that desperate people did desperate things.

    Lady Scarlet Longfellow, a human whose clothes always mimicked her name, smiled and extended an arm, "My dear Adeline, I believe our host is about to begin dinner. Would you care to walk with us?"

    Relief crept toward Adeline''s mouth, "Of course, I would, my dear." She laid her hand gently on Scarlet''s wrist.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>(oftheweather,theelements,etc.)severe,rough,orharsh;stormy. Or notkindormerciful.

    [2]</a>glazedearthenwareorpottery,especiallyafinevarietywithhighly coloreddesigns.

    [3]</a>Also known as theEye of Horus, itis an ancient Egyptiansymbol of protection, royal power and good health. The eye is personified in the goddess Wadjet(also written asWedjat,or "Udjat", Uadjet, Wedjoyet, Edjo or Uto). It is also known as ''The Eye of Ra''. The name Wadjet is derived from "wadj" meaning "green", hence "the green one", and was known to the Greeks and Romans as "uraeus" from the Egyptian "iaret" meaning "risen one" from the image of a cobrarising up in protection.

    [4]</a> Latin for snake, viper or adder

    [5]</a>To be money-hungry or greedy

    [6]</a>An inhabitant of an extremely northern region

    [7]</a>Restored to life, or to full liveliness

    [8]</a>A person of great intellectual or spiritual stature; one who spreads the light of truth and beauty around him.

 B#1 - C#9

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Ninth or The Attack on Dr. Pickering''s House and Pride

    The dining room was comfortably sized. There was enough room for the table, which seated twenty, as well as a comfortable amount of room around it for servants to bring out the food without disturbing the guests. The table seated nine on each side with one at the foot and one at the head. Since there were only nineteen guests, no one sat at the foot of the table. Dr. Pickering was seated at the head, with his wife to his left and his most honored guest, Lord Dubshire, on his right.

    A large window dominated the wall overlooking the street. The curtains were shut, hiding the perpetual and pervasive fog from the diners. Two obsidian obelisks stood at attention on either side of the window. With Adeline''s limited knowledge of the Egyptian pictographs, she couldn''t be certain, but it didn''t seem like the same language was represented on them as she had seen on the artifacts from the other room. Of course, that didn''t make them authentic, but either way, forgery or genuine, they made a very impressive pair.

    Lady Scarlet Longfellow escorted Adeline to the table. Lord Longfellow chatted with Adeline, from his position on the other arm of his wife, about what her current project was and if he could assist with any financial obligations. Lord Jonathan Longfellow had never seemed like the type of man willing to get his elegant hands dirty with the poor. However, if he had never been to the impoverished areas of town, he could never have met Scarlet. This, was a bit of a quandary for Adeline. In spite of this, he was always interested in donating to whatever cause Adeline deemed worthy, from the British Museum to the orphanages.

    Their jovial smiles dried up when they saw the place cards. Lord and Lady Longfellow gave her compassionate looks before leaving Adeline to the conversational desert of her unfortunate dinner companions. Adeline forced a pleasant smile before taking her seat.

    To Adeline''s great dismay, she was seated between Mister George Bernerdson, well know as a philosophunculist[1]</a>, and Miss Margaret Longbottom who, it seemed, her sole claim to fame being her father''s fortune with which she procured copious amounts of cosmetics. Miss Margaret''s maid had applied her foundation as if attempting to shore up faulty construction with excessive plaster, but merely managed to accentuate the cracks of age. Were her father a little less wealthy, Adeline expected Miss Longbottom would not have received an invitation.

    Then again, Adeline mused, she may have been invited as I was... That would certainly be an interesting turn of events.

    Immediately following Mister Bernerdson''s inelegant descent to his seat, he began the arduous and unsolicited process of edifying Adeline to the most cutting edge styles of philosophy he was aware of. Unfortunately, he seemed to be both several decades behind the times and to be confusing his theories.

    His mustache drooped dangerously and seemed to become entangled in his lips while he spoke. Spittle clung to the hairs, making it appear to be a great slobbery mop on top of his upper lip. It was distressing to see and almost put her off her soup until she began to think of him as a slobbery, barking dog. Yes, he reminds me of one of those St. Bernard dogs from the Swiss Alps. A smile tickled the edges of her mouth, but given the serious nature of the conversation, she couldn''t allow herself to give in.

    The more she thought of him as the great dog, the more she saw it. His jowls dragged his features down and his bushy eyebrows crept across his face, obscuring his dull eyes. His whole countenance was saggy.

    Mr. Bernerdson''s words had been peripatetic[2]</a>for some time before he finally concluded, "And that is why women cannot be allowed to teach our sons and daughters. As Plato himself said, ''women will avoid the wicked not because it is unright, but because it is ugly.'' since they lack true moral understanding we can hardly expect them to raise children with any moral insight." His voice was like a thousand rats being stepped on.

    It was hard for Adeline to stay diplomatic while Mr. Bernerdson butchered her favorite philosopher and hero of her childhood. I don''t believe he is very familiar with Plato, he certainly has never read the Symposium in English, let alone in Greek. She attempted to find something agreeable about him. Though he seems to have read Kant''s ''Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime''. A thought bubbled up while he nattered on, For a man certain that women lack any worth, he seems very bent on speaking to women... "Well, as pejorative[3]</a>as your words are, that sounds very like a very jejune[4]</a>way for women to live."

    "Brilliant! I know!" he replied having never bothered to hear her response.

    Miss Longbottom smiled halfheartedly at Adeline before setting herself intently on her meal. When asked a question, her response was to have too much food in her mouth to answer in a timely manner and when an answer finally came, it was so brief as to be almost rude.

    Scarlet and Jonathan had been seated at the far end by Anya and Lord Farcical. They seemed to be in an animated discussion that intrigued Adeline and made her envious. Anya seemed to be the odd one out. It looked like Scarlet was trying to include her, but it was obvious to any observer Anya was stilted in the way she hunched over her plate, disturbing the line of sight and thus the dialogue. She also never set her silverware down and seemed to simply place one bit of food in her mouth right after the other.

    Anya''s actions distressed Adeline. She knows how to behave in polite company. She specifically asked me to give her lessons so that she could join me at parties like this. She has even gone to parties and done quiet well mixing with society. So, why is she looking so insecure and acting so shockingly rude?

    The polar bear-man, Dr. Alexi Tolstoy, was seated directly opposite Adeline. He was being ignored by his dinner companions, Mr. Algernon Woodhead and Mr. Gerald Tweddle. Since Adeline was familiar with Mr. Tweddle, she knew that he was simply painfully shy. Had Dr. Tolstoy tried to engage him, he would have responded with politeness and possibly vigor. Unfortunately, because of her late husband''s work, she had also been able to make the acquaintance of Mr. Woodhead and knew that he was a racist, nugatory[5]</a>, picayune[6]</a>fool. It was most certainly to Dr. Tolstoy''s benefit that he did not attempt to engage Mr. Woodhead.

    Why would Mrs. Pickering place them next to one another? Is she looking to start an incident? Adeline mused. If I was able to infiltrate Cat into this dinner, then whoever is plotting this theft was most likely also able to infiltrate someone. Which means that those two were probably placed next to one another specifically to cause an incident. Adeline glanced over to Mrs. Pickering. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Mrs. Pickering was glancing over at Dr. Tolstoy and Mr. Woodhead, dismay evident on her face. When Lord Dubshire addressed her, the dismay disappeared from her face and a jovial smile released itself. The lady was quiet animated in her discussion, but continued to steal glances around the room.

    That paints a very interesting picture of what is going on. Someone definitely moved the place cards and whatever is about to happen, the Pickerings are not behind it. Perhaps a jilted wife would vindictively try to destroy her husband, but no hostess would fret over badly placed cards that she had placed herself. Adeline glanced at the two awkward diners next to her. I can only hope Mrs. Pickering did not intend to place me next to these two.

    With this is mind and having found neither of her dinner compatriots to be adequate conversationalists, she turned her attention to the doctor. "My uncle Dravan informed me you would be doing some guest lectures at the university during your stay."

    Alexi looked up from the fish course he had been intent on. "Dravan? A gnomish fellow?"

    Adeline nodded, swallowing her own delicate bit of fish.

    Alexi blinked slowly, "Yes." his voice finally began to rumble forth, "I will be doing a few surgeries demonstrating some new tools." He blinked again, "I believe I met your uncle this evening." A bit of an edge joined his voice, "He is no doctor, he is an Aeaeist."

    His words and his vehemence concerned her. What was Dravan doing with him? Dravan never leaves his boat. She mused, I wonder what is going on in Russia that he hates Aeaeists. "That is correct. He is pursuing another doctorate."

    Mrs. Eleanor Robert, a dwarf wearing an emerald green dress and an expensive pearl necklace, who was sitting next to Mr. Tweddle joined into the conversation, "How are you enjoying your stay in London? It must be ever so much more interesting than Moscow."

    Alexi smiled, revealing his full maw of teeth. "It is certainly less dangerous here and the city is much warmer."

    "Warmer!" Dr. Pickering, who was some distance away at the head of the table, exclaimed, "You should join me in Egypt on my next dig. I assure you, you have not begun to feel heat until you reach Egypt!"

    Alexi smiled gently this time, "I''m afraid I must decline. I am not suited for such an adventure."

    Dr. Pickering seemed to have not heard Dr. Tolstoy''s remark. "There are many wondrous things to learn in Egypt." He gestured to Mr. Bryne who, with another servant began setting up oversized cards with diagrams of unwrapped mummies.

    Adeline set her fork down for the final time. She didn''t find discussing corpses over dinner agreeable for her digestion. However, the information was certainly interesting.

    A gesture from Lord Farcical caught her eye. He nodded slightly toward the widow, Lady Dubshire, and her son Lord Dubshire. Lady Dubshire had gone to boarding school with Adeline. At that time, she had been as beautiful and vain as she was loathsome. The years, however, had not been kind to Lady Elizabeth Dubshire. While creamy white skin was something every Englishwoman stroved for, Lady Dubshire''s skin appeared ghastly. Her flesh was sunken so much that her face appeared to be a skull resting upon her spine rather than a living visage. Lady Dubshire''s agedness wasn''t what caught Lord Farcical''s eye. Rather, it was the terrible smirk creeping across her son''s countenance.

    Lord Dubshire was dressed smartly, befitting his station. But as Adeline looked closely, she saw three red drops on the cuff of his sleeve as he brushed some hair away from his face.

    Dr. Pickering stood up from his chair, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, please follow me into the study."

    He gestured to Mr. Bryne again who moved toward the door. Just before the butler touched handle, a loud crash shattered the calm from the other room. Mr. Bryne frantically began to try the door, however it did little more than shake.

    "What is the meaning of this?" Dr. Pickering demanded, his face turning purple from embarrassment and fury.

    "I... I don''t know. It seems to be blocked from the other side."

    The large window that dominated the front of the room was shattered by a brass ball. Three more balls followed. Upon hitting the floor, the balls began hissing smoke. A glowing red bar that hissed smoke and fire followed, setting the curtains and everything it touched ablaze.

    Disorganized panic spread across the room. As Adeline attempted to stand, her chair and footing were knocked out from under her by the previously boring philosopher. His high pitched shrieks pierced her ears and only added to the confusion. She tried to gather her feet underneath her, but her skirts; necessitated through social course, tangled her legs and from the tugs she was giving, seemed to be caught. The smoke from the grenades filled the air with a choking gas and the flames threw off their own thick, black smoke.

    One moment, she was looking at the hopeless confusion of chairs and petticoats and the next the huge dining room table was heaved over her head and out the window, sucking much of the initial fumes out with it. With the barrier to the outside broken, the London smog began to creep toward the house, but was beaten off by the flames that crept higher on the curtains and sought to find a way into the second floor.

    Lord Farcical grabbed her elbow and assisted her to her feet. He shouted, "The way to the kitchen is blocked!"

    The growling voice of Dr. Tolstoy came from above Adeline''s head answering him, "Then we must unblock a door!" The beastman strode to the door to the library and punched through it. Then, with his paw firmly gripped on the door, he ripped it inward. One of the lovingly prepared cases lay ruined before the door, blocking the way. The great urn it had housed was cracked, a large shard broken off and resting some distance away. Mosaic lay shattered on the floor.

    A snakeman, with the aid of a boarman and three humans were attempting to manhandle the sarcophagus out of the library and toward the front door. There were few defining factors on the intruders. They wore nondescript clothing and had no defining features. The snakeman was an anomaly among the group, since his race marked him as clearly foreign.

    A crowbar clutched in the hand of the serpentman made it obvious how they had broken it free from the steel stand that had gripped it. The snakeman looked back at them and hissed. His eyes narrowed, he pointed at two of the humans, "You two! Get them!"

    Lord Farcical stepped over the shattered remains of Dr. Pickering''s hopes to be an archeologist, "I''ll hold them off! You get the ladies out of there!"

    Dr. Tolstoy lifted Adeline out before turning back into the flaming room to help the others escape. Adeline turned to assist the Russian, but there was no room in the choked doorway to do anything but get in the way. She could only pray that Dr. Tolstoy was able to get everyone out before the fire caught them.

    The two thugs charged Lord Farcical in a pincer movement, he dodged back and forth engaging them as a boxer. He was doing an admirable job, but they seemed set on getting around him and stopping the guests escape.

    Adeline grabbed a large piece of mosaic that had fallen to the floor. It was heavy in her hand. When one of them circled around behind Lord Farcical again, she struck him in the head with the piece, crumpling him. With that threat dealt with, Lord Farcical was free to finish off the other thug. Which he did with a well placed blow on the jaw.

    Those dealt with, they looked up to see the sarcophagus was gone. Adeline ran for the front door, but couldn''t see anyone outside. In fact, were it not for the flames belching from the dinning room window, the night was picturesque in its serenity. Even Mr. Taurus in his carriage were nowhere to be seen.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>a petty or insignificant philosopher

    [2]</a>wandering

    [3]</a>Disparaging

    [4]</a>Dull or lackluster

    [5]</a>Worthless or vain. In this instance, worthless

    [6]</a>Petty

 B#1 - C#10

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Tenth or How Mr. Taurus Found Himself in the Street

    Mr. Taurus parked the carriage one house down from the Pickering''s. If the fog weren''t so thick he would have parked a second house down. But given the weather, if he had done that, he would never be able to see the thieves approach the house, let alone smell them.

    The thick fog clung to his clipped horns and crept up his nose, blocking it. From his position on the carriage he could just barely see to the door of the manor. The fog made the sounds echo in eerie ways. It had an unnatural feel to it. It was possible the fog had grown so thick because of all the coal burning in the house, but to Mr. Taurus, this fog felt even heavier than that.

    Mr. Taurus climbed down from the carriage so he could speak to his horses without his voice carrying, "Now ladies, if you could keep your senses sharp, Lady MacNeal thinks there''s trouble afoot."

    When he had first started driving for his lady, he had thought the horses were just horses. He knew that wasn''t true, now. Lord MacNeal had taught him that. Mr. Taurus had noticed the uncanny way the animals all knew where Lord MacNeal was and in return, the lord knew if there was anything wrong with his animals. But, he hadn''t wanted to think about what could have caused this because he liked the lady and his interactions with mystic forces historically, always had been patently bad. The last time he had seen a higher power, he had been running naked out of an Indian temple trying to evade poison darts and hoping he didn''t get eaten by a swirling, black, vortex of evil. It also happened to be why he didn''t get hickey[1]</a>around foreigners, since he couldn''t tell when they were going to try to sacrifice him to a dark god or just steal his purse.

    Years back, before Edward the Younger had died, when one of the lord''s hunting dogs had been struck by a carriage, Lord MacNeal had somehow known. He had been sitting at dinner quietly one minute, listening to the lady talk about a new charity she was working on, when suddenly he had gone white at the face, practically shooting out of the chair, before he was able to excuse himself properly. Mr. Taurus had raced after the older gentleman, following him outside and seen the bitch in the street. Whoever had struck the dog had continued as if she were worthless. They hadn''t even concerned themselves with how clean she was, or that she was, clearly, the pinnacle of breeding.

    That canine was one of Lord MacNeal''s prize bitches, Sonya. She was a silvered white color and his family had been breeding her line true since before the Gauls had sacked Rome. She had a patient temperament, an excellent nose and was especially good with children.

    Sonya hadn''t been dead, and even splayed across the street, she had raised her head ever so slightly when Lord MacNeal had called her name coming out the door, but she had clearly been on her way out. Her legs were bent strangely, blood was beginning to pool under the bitch, and her chest appeared to have been partially crushed. She looked as if the old poger[2]</a>had given her a sound beating and left her out in the cold.

    Mr. Taurus had known Sonya was a goner. Lord MacNeal had knelt by the bitch and spoke to her. Mr. Taurus hadn''t heard what was said, but he approached with dread. He knew Lord MacNeal to be a passionate man and he feared the recourse. After all, it was ultimately Mr. Taurus'' fault that the dog had gotten out.

    Lord MacNeal had straightened her legs. His movements were certain, though at the time, Mr. Taurus hadn''t understood why. When Mr. Taurus reached his lord''s side the broken dog appeared to have no wounds. Even her crushed chest was restored. The blood on her body which Mr. Taurus had seen from the door was completely gone. Her fur was once again its pristine silver.

    Lord MacNeal had exclaimed, "It''s a miracle! The Divine has restored her!"

    Mr. Taurus had looked at the pool of blood, still fresh and gleaming. Fear had risen up, choking him. He had almost run then, fearing the canine was an undead beast. But something in the way Sonya''s eyes sparkled made him decide to test his fear first. He had reached out, his hand trembling, and touched the dog''s neck, seeking a pulse and finding it. Relief had coursed through him.

    The fear had arisen because of his time in the Navy, a time he had scrubbed from his mind and his identity. Mr. Taurus would never be connected to the young Scotsman whose identity he had shed when he had leapt overboard into the Atlantic off the coast of New England. An identity he knew the lord and lady had never been acquainted with. On a journey in India he had met peoples who bound themselves to Death for His wicked power. When the bitch had stood¡­ a creature that had been clearly walking through Death''s door¡­

    "I don''t understand, my lord." Mr. Taurus had whispered in awe.

    Lord MacNeal had nodded satisfied, "It''s a miracle from the Divine." He had patted Mr. Taurus on the back, "Let''s go celebrate the return of this life."

    Lord MacNeal hadn''t blamed him at all. He just took them both inside, called for a few close friends and threw an impromptu party. It was one of the strangest experiences he had ever had.

    That was the day Mr. Taurus began truly looking at the animals and noticing all the oddities. Lord MacNeal never lost a pup, kitten, foal or anything else for that matter. His animals grew bigger, faster and were better tempered than any other noble''s that Mr. Taurus had had the misfortune of working with.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    The church and university told the world that no one had knacks, but Lord MacNeal had been proof they were wrong. Just because his power didn''t come from incantations or lamentations didn''t stop the power from flowing through him.

    It had been that experience that made Mr. Taurus address the horses so earnestly and this same foreknowledge that led him to accept their response.The two dipped and raised their heads in agreement. They didn''t make a sound. They felt the tension in the air. Time stretched on. The fog grew thicker until he couldn''t see the reins in his hands. His eyes grew heavy as the fog pressed down on him.

    Just as he was about to fall asleep, one of the horses dragged her hoof against the cobble stones. Mr. Taurus jerked his head up. It was as if the fog rolled back to how it had been at the beginning of the night.

    Magic! He thought.

    Mr. Taurus blinked his eyes and saw an uncovered wagon in front of the Pickering house. Six humans, a boar and a canine beastman padded alongside the wagon. A serpent-man drove the flatbed. The boar had great tusks that stretched outward from his face. He could clearly see how they had been sharpened wickedly. The canine had a short muzzle, but in the fog, he couldn''t discern the color of the beast.

    Mr. Taurus swung down from his perch grabbing the shotgun he kept under his seat. It was his favorite, it had a side-motion action and a double trigger. The villains were so focused on their task they didn''t notice him until he unloaded the two barrels in one shot. Then they really noticed him.

    The sound of the gun ringing out was strangely muffled as if it could have come from miles away. The cloud of shot had also seemed to move slower than in Mr. Taurus'' previous experience, however, luckily, the pellets still moved fast enough.

    One of the humans took a large part of the blast to the back. He fell forward and struck his head on the wheel. He did not rise. The serpent, who seemed to have heard the gun firing, had moved his arm to cover his face. His arm looked to have taken quite the hit, but it was evident that his scales had prevented him from taking lasting damage.

    The other villains, many sporting injuries, turned toward the threat.

    He tossed his empty shotgun back toward the carriage, since he wasn''t going to be able to reload and fire it before they descended on him. Bloody Englishmen! He thought drawing his highland dirk. He had been carrying it since he was a wee bairn and like all of his kind, he was deadly with it. Mr. Taurus eyed the scoundrels with a professional eye, even as his blood boiled with delight at the chance to spit an Englishman without the coppers taking him in.

    What a good day today is. Already one of cowards sent on to meet St. Peter. His muzzle curled up as he smiled.

    The canine beastman charged him first. The man howled his fury as he lunged, claws extended, mouth open. Fortunately, this gave Mr. Taurus an excellent angle to thrust the dagger through the roof of the canine''s mouth and into his brain. Unfortunately, this meant he had to waste precious time disengaging his blade from the pauper''s skull.

    While he was wrenching his knife out, the four humans attacked. Two were carrying cudgels, the others had knives. All four of them had the reach on him, they were at least six inches taller.

    Regrettably, for them, Mr. Taurus hadn''t always driven Lady MacNeal''s carriage. A lifetime ago he had been a renowned knife fighter in the highlands and with the exception of other Highland Cowmen, everyone he had fought was taller than him. He used their height against them, causing one of the knifemen to stab the other. As he dodged and whirled through them, his blade snickering as it scored the knuckles of one of the cudgel wielders.

    The bloke dropped the cudgel and swung with his uninjured fist. As the man was hardly a pugilist[3]</a>, Mr. Taurus was easily able to duck the blow, grab the bloke''s arm and throw him into another one of the lads.

    As he stepped forward to finish off the fallen scoundrel, something wrapped around his foot and pulled him off balance. His vision had been so full of the humans, he had lost track of the snake.

    He struggled against the constricting coils, but it was no use. With each exhaling breath, the serpent crushed him tighter. As Mr. Taurus faded into the darkness he heard a muffled question, it was too far from him to hear it clearly. The serpents'' hissing in his ear, he did hear, however.

    "No, I''m not going to kill him. He didn''t kill anyone of worth." The words drifted away from Mr. Taurus as the snake continued, "We don''t want to kill anyone they''ll miss. We don''t want to leave a trail or give them any additional reason to hunt us."

    As his mind darkened he remembered where he had heard that accent before. It was the same accent that he remembered the Death worshipers speak. An Indian snake? Burmese Pytho¡­ But he was gone before he could finish the thought.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>tipsy, drunk, hiccupping

    [2]</a>the devil

    [3]</a>A boxer

 B#1 - C#11

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Eleventh or The Inner Workings of an Upper Middle Class Household

    Cat surveyed the Pickering manor house and its graminous[1]</a>yard with a practiced eye under the cover of nervously wringing her hat. She twisted and untwisted the worn out fabric in her hands, it was a practiced motion, designed to make her look like a anxious young lad, rather than an experienced lookout. The hat was a man''s hat, far too large for her undersized head, and a gift from the sewers that were the intestines of London. It was worn, thread-bare, with multiple holes burgeoning and was an old, tired grey that seemed less the colour grey and more like it had simply forgotten how to be a colour and that was the shade it had ended up.

    The sewer had deposited the hat near her bolt-hole some hand of days ago and Cat wasn''t one to turn away a free hat. She was even more pleased with her choice now that she had an occasion to wear it. Or, in this case, worry it in her hands as she gave the mark a look over.

    Lady Adeline did not know that Cat was an accomplished pickpocket, nor that she had dabbled in burglary. The Lady would be crushed, which was one reason Cat endeavored to keep the Lady from knowing. Other reasons included Cat''s certainty that the Lady would demand she turn herself in and that she return what she had stolen, both of which she couldn''t do for obvious reasons.

    So, even though Cat hadn''t been able to read the street signs, she had recognized the change of smell and the effort that the upper middle-class put into trying to ape the upper class. Cook had taught her basic sums so that she could run errands for Lady MacNeal''s household, so she was able to find the house number with little trouble. Cat tended to have some trouble with twos and fives, but the Pickering''s house had neither number so it was relatively easy to locate. From the outside, the manor appeared to almost be a child''s sized version of Lady MacNeal''s, but while the Lady''s house held a balance between easy elegance and warm regard, this house seemed to fall short on both accounts.

    From the size of the doors, Cat could tell, there would be no way a beast man of any stature could enter comfortably, let alone an ogre. The stone of the house, though it had been cleaned and polished until it glistened, displayed it''s local nature. The doors, though fashionable in style, lacked the intricacies that would have exclaimed that they were carved by a master craftsman.

    With this evaluation complete, she tugged the hat on, obscuring mischievous eyes and poorly cut hair. "Pull yourself together, Cat. This is a job and a good paying one. Work first, play later."

    She slipped between the wrought iron bars of the fence. She could have presented her letter of introduction to the footman at the gate. In truth, she should have, but she wanted a look around before she was forced to fetch and carry.

    The gardens echoed the theme of trying to reach something just outside one''s class and means. The garden seemed to be a copy of a number of noble''s gardens she had snuck into, only the trees were smaller and the bushes weren''t as established. From the looks of things, one of the newspapers had probably run an article on the "gardens of nobility" but then only written about parts of the gardens the writer had seen or found interesting. The flow of the garden was disjointed and the "themes" were patchwork with no sense of harmony or cohesiveness.

    Cat followed a stone path that led to French doors, "Finally," Cat murmured to herself looking through the clear glass, "something real."

    Dr. Pickering''s library lay on the other side of the doors. There were a lot of books Cat knew she couldn''t read, but what was more intriguing were the artifacts placed around the room. Marvels from another world stood proudly on display and for the first time, she got an understanding of the people who were going to be robbed.

    Cat struggled to get the perfect view of one of the pieces, a strange gold cross whose top seemed to have been looped on itself, when she saw the butler walk into the library. She knew he was the butler, because he was dressed in the same manner that Jeeves used to dress and if there was one thing she learned loitering around Lady MacNeal''s it was that every servant can be identified by their clothes.

    Not wanting to be caught where she had no business being, she crawled behind a hedge sculpted to look like a man with a bird''s head. The leaves had even been tinted gold of the party. Cat knew this because some of the gold came off when she accidentally touched it.

    The gnome began pacing, clearly muttering to himself and began pinching his arms. It was certainly odd behavior. Cat had never seen anyone other than Crazy Henry harm themselves like that, but Crazy Henry was, as indicated by his name, quite insane. What any self respecting butler of good position could possibly be doing inflicting self harm was beyond her understanding.

    Perhaps he is part of the conspiracy and is having second thoughts? It was the only thing that could make sense.

    After circling the library a few times, Cat was certain his arms must have been covered in tiny bruises. By his last circle, the butler gathered himself, straightened his shirt and jacket and left the room. His retreat brought a sigh of relief from Cat, who wanted to get to work and not waste her introduction.

    She crept out from behind the bush only to freeze in place. She heard the sound of two sets of footsteps coming from where she presumed the kitchen was. Bloody hell. She thought crouching again behind the bush. I''m glad my knees don''t crackle and creak like some of the fellows do, or I''d find myself thrown out quicksticks[2]</a>!

    The cook, she could tell the woman was certainly the cook, was a short, fat hag who seemed to be only a muffin away from growing a fourth chin. Her gait was a painful waddle, that, for all its awkwardness, seemed to lumber forward quite quickly. The cook''s hair was swept back into a stern bun that served to make her face even more severe. She carried her white cap, that denoted her rank, under her flabby arm which seemed to practically consume the hat. The cap, despite its current predicament, had been recently bleached and starched, causing it to seem swallowed up by the universal, crisp whiteness of the cook''s uniform.

    Cat''s eyes narrowed as she watched the cook''s approach. She shouldn''t be out of the kitchen. Not with the soir¨¦e only a few hours away.

    The other servant, a footman, was human as well, however that was as close as similarities got. He was tall, very tall to the child-sized Cat. His features were sharp and hollow, more than that, they were narrow and weasel-like. What a futrat[3]</a>.

    The two humans stood on the other side of the bush from Cat. Even outside with no one in sight, they whispered, but Cat could make out bits and pieces of what they said.

    "His lordship wants¡­"

    "¡­you see how impossible that is?"

    "¡­doesn''t matter. Get it done."

    "I''ll take care of it¡­"

    Cat listened carefully. Given what was said, or how little she actually heard, it could mean nothing. But based on where it was said¡­ Lade Adeline''s cook never leaves the kitchen. Her word is absolute there. If this had anything to do with her position, they would be talking in her domain.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Cook waddled huskily, rocking like a sailor in a hurricane back toward what Cat presumed was the kitchen. She would be headed there herself as soon as she could get away from this bush. The footman stayed behind. Leisurely, he took out a tin of tobacco and rolled a small fag. The mundungus waifed from him, cloyingly sweet, but under that smell was a darker, even more unpleasant aroma, almost like burnt flesh. No. Cat amended, Exactly like burnt flesh. It smelled like when the plague had broken out among the sewer people a few years back and the bobbers had begun burning the poor. Usually, after they were dead. That was the year the ghouls had migrated up from the lower catacombs of the sewer system to feast on the plague stricken and the dead. Unfortunately, they hadn''t really realized they were supposed to migrate back down after the plague was over.

    Just when she thought she would start gagging, a high, but firm voice startled the gaspipe-crawler[4]</a>. He dropped the fag, stepping on it to put it out before walking off quickly. Cat took out a hanky, she had many of different levels of cleanliness, although this one was very clean and wrapped the remains of the cigarette.

    Maybe Dravan can tell us something with this? Dravan had once mentioned to her that with the power of Aeaeae, if he had an object of importance to a person, he could divine some information about them. I''m not certain if he was pulling my leg, but it could be worth a shot. Dravan probably wouldn''t turn her into a frog if she brought the trash for his sister. When he had first threatened her with that, she had been terrified, but then Sarah had told her that Dravan didn''t need frogs for his arcane spells. That had eased her fears until Dravan and Sarah had gone on a trip to France. When they came back, Sarah had told her about how the French ate frog legs and Dravan had looked up from is book, turned to her and stated very clearly that it was now his favorite dish. Once again, she was fearful of being turned into a frog.

    Cat tucked the butt into a pocket, hoping that the stink would be smothered by the hanky and her clothes, before heading toward the kitchen. The kitchen was loud with the sounds of pots banging and the fat hag''s shrill yells. The door was open to let out the heat that the ovens generated. Cat waited in the lee of the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting, before attempting to step into the melee.

    The cook was shouting at anyone who couldn''t move fast enough to get out of her way, three maids had vanished before Cat''s eyes had finished adjusting. Currently, the sole remaining unfortunate was the scullery maid whose thin frame and narrow features could have made her the by-blow of the earlier footman. Perhaps not though, she looks like she''s just down on her luck rather than a villain. Whatever the girl was, there was no way she was anyone''s legitimate anything. Not with how underfed she was.

    Cook looked up and spotted Cat. "Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?" She spat, her fat lips slapping together like she was leering at a turkey leg.

    "Name''s Cat." She held up her letter of introduction, "Lady MacNeal gave me an introduction, said to give it to the butler. He around?"

    Cook glared darts at Cat before jerking her hand toward the door at the other end, "Mr. Bryne is through there. But," She grabbed Cat''s shoulder like a vice while Cat was passing by, "don''t disturb the good doctor or the misses or I''ll flay you and then turn you out on your ear."

    Cat nodded, "Yes, mum." before scooting off through the door and into the rest of the house.

    The gnome she had seen harming himself in the library was indeed, Mr. Bryne, the butler. Seeing him closer, Cat saw that they were of comparable size, though his short stature and spindly limbs were because of his race rather than his diet. His cheeks were sunken and his nose pronounced in a most unfortunate way. But given the look of him, and what she had seen earlier, Cat wondered if his sunken cheeks were more due to anxiety than lack of food. Cook certainly isn''t lacking food and the butler should be able to get an acceptable portion even if Cook is trying to stiff the other servants.

    Mr. Bryne was muttering and leaning over an open drawer. The cabinet, to which the drawer belonged, seemed to hold dishes. China? Cat had seen some around, the Lady had some about her house, though hers seemed more delicate. Maybe you just think these people''s stuff isn''t as good because it isn''t her stuff. She rebuked herself, Keep your eyes open, he''s a traveler, there''s no telling what he could have picked up.

    Without warning, Mr. Bryne stiffened and whipped around, having suddenly become aware of her presence. "Who are you, boy? What are you doing here?" He practically squealed nervously, his eyes wide and the pupils dilated.

    Cat noticed a piece of silverware slip into his pocket rather than back into the drawer. She pretended she hadn''t seen, Scoundrel. She thought, taking out her letter of recommendation, "The Lady MacNeal gave me this letter as an introduction."

    "Lady MacNeal?" He sighed reading the letter, "I''ve heard she does a great deal of work with the poor." He eyed Cat suspiciously, "I won¡¯t have any thieves about in the house."

    Cat shook her head earnestly, "I''m no more a foister[5]</a>than you are, sir."

    Mr. Bryne winced, "Good." He wrung his hands for a second before remembering himself and putting them at his sides, "Well, I have everything under control, but I don''t suppose I can send you away. Not with her recommendation and Dr. Pickering trying to fund another dig." He idly tapped the pocket he had slipped the silver spoon in, his mind off somewhere.

    This bloke is new to thiefing or he wouldn''t be touching his pocket. Anyone whose knicked anything knows that. That knowledge pleased Cat since it meant Mr. Bryne could be a good man in hard straits rather than a bad man. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

    Mr. Bryne glared at Cat, "You will call me, Mr. Bryne."

    Cat worked very hard not to roll her eyes, "Yes, Mr. Bryne."

    "You will attend the needs of the staff, fetch coal should Cook run out, peel potatoes if she needs your hands, whatever is asked of you by anyone." His beady eyes narrowed menacingly, "Do you understand?"

    Cat was trying to look demure, "Yes, Mr. Bryne."

    "Off with you, boy." Mr. Bryne said before turning back to the silver that he was polishing.

    Cat wasn''t certain where she was supposed to be off too. The kitchen was a likely place, especially since Mr. Bryne had said Cook''s name¡­ but¡­ I don''t want to see that witch if I can help it.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>Anything covered in grass

    [2]</a>Victorian Slang for "right away" or "without delay"

    [3]</a>Weasel or ferret: in this case, it is used as an insult to say someone has a thin face.

    [4]</a>An old slang nickname for a thin, scrawny-looking man

    [5]</a>A pickpocket or cheat

 B#1 - C#12

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Twelveth or Plotting in an Upper Middle Class Household

    Cat found herself doing the unskilled labor of scrubbing pots, freeing up the other maid so that she could assist Cook. The caustic lye soap burned Cat''s hands, the heat of the water burned her hands too, so Cat was unsurprised with how cheerfully the maid gave up the position. The young woman, who looked to be in her twenties, had hands that were cracked and blistered from the harsh chemicals.

    Cat had washed dishes at Lady MacNeal''s before, so she knew how to wash dishes the proper way. Something she had been painstakingly taught since Lady Adeline''s cook was so picky. However, the lady gave the housekeeper and Cook ample funds to buy high quality supplies. When Dravan had made a soap that didn''t ruin a girl''s hands but still cleaned the dishes just as well, they were able to purchase it.

    Cat, trying not to focus on her hands, reflected that Dravan''s meeting Sarah was probably one of the best things to happen to poor women as a people in years. Dravan was no philanthropist, but he did care a great deal for his pleasure and comfort. So when he saw Sarah''s hands on his body and her knuckles were swollen and cracked, he had enquired to the reason. Upon learning the cause, he sought a cure because "lovely women should have lovely hands".

    When he grew frustrated that she needed to go to the market so often and wasn''t there to listen to his ideas, he developed an incantation that would keep food fresh longer. Dravan was a man that overcame obstacles.

    How can I do that here? Cat cast her vision about the kitchen. She badly desired to get out from under Cook''s eye. Cutting my hand on a knife badly enough to get me out of the dishes would only get me fired. Out of the kitchen, yes, but out of the mystery as well. Breaking something would ensure a beating before being fired. Cat wracked her brain.

    Cat was staring into the murky water when one of the footmen arrived, "Mr. Bryne said the boy is to assist with the horses tonight. I need him now to get dressed."

    Cook, who had been very focused on berating the maid, whipped around, "What? All you have to do is look handsome and he gives you a helper? I slave in here all day with nothing but this idiot girl, and when I finally get assistance, you take it away?" Her voice was raising with each word she spit. She pointed a knife at Cat who was trying to slip away unnoticed, "Get back to your dishes!"

    Cat bobbed her head, "Thanks for the work mum, but I''m on to the next job!" She slipped out behind the footman.

    With a firm voice and a straight back the footman answered Cook''s complaint. "If you have any questions regarding Mr. Bryne''s decision, please address him." Then he turned on his heel and left.

    "Thanks." Cat said, trotting at the man''s side to keep up.

    A smile broke out from the man''s face, making him seem much younger. Sixteen or perhaps eighteen. "My name''s John." His livery was sharp and clean. He towered over Cat. He patted her shoulder, practically having to reach down to do so, "Lad, unless you have quite the growth spurt, you''ll not want to become a footman."

    Cat had noticed most footmen were tall, "Why?"

    The footman shrugged, "People with money have strange ideas. They claim that a tall man looks better than a short one." He laughed, "Since I''m 6''3", I''m plenty tall. We get paid an extra pound for every inch over 5''10"." John added that he wished the Pickerings had found a matching man, so that they might both be paid extra.

    That explained a great deal. All of Lady MacNeal''s footmen seemed to be giants, even compared to John. Many of them were twins either by birth or luck and acted as such. But then, she could afford paying extra.

    John led Cat into the dorms. The men shared a long dorm with cots set up. Mr. Bryne had his own private room which then led into the wine cellar. Cook also had a room in the basement, adjoined to a cool storage room where she stored her preserves and root vegetables. It certainly wasn''t of the same quality as the storage Dravan had made on his river boat, but it was common enough.

    "Lad," John continued, "Here are some clothes to change to. You look pretty clean, so you won''t have to bathe, which is a blessing. When you finish, come out front. I''ll show you what''s needed."

    Cat dressed quickly, though she hesitated at the door. This could be my last chance to look around the house¡­ She shook her head. John seems talkative, maybe I can get some information out of him.

    Just as she was leaving, she ran into the tall and weasley man from the garden. "Watch yourself, boy!" The footman gave her a shove before going into the dorms where he went to the furthest bed from the door and began searching for something under the bed.

    Cat was curious and wanted to spy on the man, but she knew she couldn''t. She had no business loitering inside. She hurried out front and looked for John, who was very easy to spot. She described the situation and asked the other footman''s name.

    "Oh, him? Rather surly man isn''t he? He was hired for the party. I believe his name is James Canton." John straightened Cat''s collar, "I don''t know how he came on as a footman. He isn''t tall in the slightest."

    This wasn''t true. James Canton was tall, perhaps taller than John. But it was clear that John didn''t like the other man and that went along with how Cat felt as well.

    Scorn dripped from his lips, "If he is down in the dorms at this time of day, then he spilled something on his clothes. Amateur."

    Cat had thought that it had to be some nefarious purpose that sent James into the dorms, but that was a perfectly reasonable one she hadn''t thought of. "Maybe he''s never been in service before?" If he hadn''t it could make tracking him down after the theft more difficult.

    John was very forthcoming. Apparently, Cook hadn''t always been a horrible, fat hag. She had gained the weight over the last year, having started as a plump but jovial and comely woman. Last month, on her half day off, she had come back late. Mr. Bryne had already locked up and so left her outside. John asserted that if Mr. Bryne had known it was her, he probably would have left Cook in, but either way, he didn''t. When Cook was seen the next day, she looked wretched. Not only unkempt, but hung over and with an eye blackened.

    Cook had never, in all her years at this house or any other, behaved so. After that she had grown surly. Dr. and Mrs. Pickering may not have been generous, but they were fair in what they gave for sustenance. What Cook made for the servants had suffered in quality and quantity.

    Such penny pinching meant that she owed someone money, of course. Given what Cat had overheard, Cook had to owe a great deal of money to be helping in a heist. If she was caught she had to know she would go to prison and never trusted in service again. Of course, that was if she didn''t go to the gallows.

    What really confused Cat was that if a behemoth like Cook, let alone a female one, were down at the gambling dens she would have heard about it through her connections. There was no way Cook could do what Cat was and hide her gender, not with the breasts she had. Who is she in debited to?

    When the carriages began arriving, Cat sprang forward to hold the horses heads while John assisted the guests from the carriage. As the driver pulled off to have a few hours peace or to wait along the road, John would tell Cat the identities of the guests and a few tidbits of gossip.

    The first man to arrive was a shorter, fatter man who was quite hairy. His body drooped. According to John he was Mister George Bernerdson. Who was generally harmless. "A bit of a cad and perhaps too willing to notice a maid. But really, given some of the lovely women in service, what man could blame him?" John turned away from Cat, looking out to where the next carriage was already coming in, he murmured under his breath, "I wouldn''t let one of my sisters work for him though."

    Mr. Gerald Tweddle, a gnome, was the next guest to arrive. John described him with some irritation as "perfectly boring". "No one knows anything of consequence about him. He practically lives in the museum. It makes a man suspicious when there is no gossip to be had."

    Cat noted that Mr. Tweddle was wearing an expensive tweed suit common for academics who needed to look presentable. It was the kind of suit that dissuaded pickpockets since is screamed to the world, "I carry nothing of value to you". The key, Cat knew, was the "to you" part, since academics often carried ancient artifacts with them, but the market was limited on such items and they were almost always traceable. It was a shame really. It had taken a few nicks before Cat had realized that, which meant that her lair had a surprising collection of world artifacts.

    When John handed Captain Reginald Carrington out of his hansom, Cat could smell the stink of whiskey standing by the horses head. Even in the growing fog, Cat could see his highly polished metals gleaming on the breast of his uniform. There were a few, but not half as many as on Lord MacNeal''s uniform. His clothes were the model of the British Army and could have passed inspection. The man however had been drinking too much for decades and lacked the physique. Had he been of dwarven blood, it probably wouldn''t have shown, since they could tolerate alcohol better than humans, but he was not.

    "I suppose you smelled that, eh?" He chuckled holding up two shillings, one of which he tossed to Cat. "He''s an alright character. He always tips but you can''t never tell what kind you''ll get. Sometimes he''s so drunk he''ll slip you a pound, other times he''s so drunk he''ll give you a half penny."

    "Lord Jonathan and Lady Scarlet Longfellow are always in vogue." John held up two pound coins, "And not because they tip you a pound on purpose." the footman looked guilty for a moment before handing slowly reaching out to hand one of the coins to Cat, "The Lady Longfellow was a courtesan before she married Lord Longfellow."

    Cat raised an eyebrow, "That can''t be true. A lord marry a prostitute?" Cat gazed up at the house where the Lady Longfellow was entering in a red dress so fashionable it was almost scandalous.

    "She''s not a common whore, she was a courtesan I''ve heard they are excellent conversationalists and are trained in all manner of bedroom skills¡­" He trailed off for a moment. "Anyway, you''re probably too young to understand the appeal of that."

    John blushed, his eyes lingering on the door until the next carriage arrived and he assisted the graceful, elven and lovely Miss Millet. She wore a black dress that matched elegantly with her long black hair and contrasted her skin, which was so pale it seemed illuminescent. "They say Miss Susanna Millett is crazy and anyone who has heard her speak can attest to that." John nodded as if agreeing with himself.

    Lord Farcical was also wearing his uniform and it too was so clean and polished that it could pass inspection. The difference was that Lord Farcical was a man who could pass inspection. In spite of his advancing years, the early fifties made the adventures of youth more difficult for humans, he was still very active and it showed. His uniform was filled out nicely and there was no paunch that commonly grows about middle-aged men. His medals were polished and there were many of them.

    Lord Farcical, whose golden hair was perhaps a little bit long for regulation length, did not look his age. He maintained a face that held few if any wrinkles and carried even less grey in his whiskers and hair. His left hand twitched in a stiff and unfamiliar way, as if it were disconnected from the rest of his body. Cat was surprised she had not noticed the strange movements before.

    "Lord John Farcical was Lord MacNeal''s Lieutenant Colonel. It''s said that he was trusted with everything, some people think that Lord MacNeal even gave his blessing for his lady to marry Lord Farcical after his death."

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Cat shook her head, "That''s impossible. Lord MacNeal didn''t know he was going to be in a steamer accident. Anyway, it''s been three years, if Lord Farcical was going to marry Lady MacNeal, don''t you think she would have consented by now?"

    John looked thoughtful, "I suppose that''s true."

    Cat wasn''t shocked to hear rumors that Lord Farcical and Lady MacNeal were supposed to be married. Lord Farcical had been like a little brother to Lord MacNeal. They had, according to Lady MacNeal, grown up together in Scotland before they bought their commissions and left to see the world.

    John smiled before schooling his face upon seeing the next carriage, "Lord Sexton is a proper Englishman." He said with pride in his voice.

    Cat did not understand John''s comment regarding Lord Sexton. The man was dapper, but he seemed ordinary in everyway. He was of average height, he would make a poor footman, his blond hair and blue eyes were unremarkable, and he lacked an presence that would draw people in to him.

    "Lady Adeline MacNeal¡­ well, I told you the rumor with Lord Farcical, but aside from that, she seems to be a strange one. Very concerned for the poor. I''ve heard she owns many orphanages and homes for women." He was quick to add, "And not the ones that beat the children or sell the women either. Proper homes where she tries to find them good homes or good wages." He added at a low whisper, "I''ve heard she even tests the children for magic and any found with it she gives a scholarship to the academy."

    Cat nodded. She knew all that first hand. She had even gone with Lady Adeline to look over some of the houses and make sure they were running according to her wishes. What surprised her was John''s reaction. Does he not approve of her dealings with the poor?

    "Now, that Miss Anya O''Mally on the other hand¡­" John spat on the ground, "Uppity she is, doesn''t know her place. I''ve heard, from her house maid no less, that she beats the poor girl. Pays her poor wages and then finds every opportunity to take the money back. The only reason the girl stays is so she can get a good recommendation when she leaves, but who knows if that can even be done?"

    This was news to Cat. I suppose I''ve never checked on her house¡­ maybe I should look into that. If that''s the kind of scoundrel Miss Anya is¡­ then the lady should stay far from her!

    John nodded at the next carriage, already able to identify its inhabitant, "Mr. Algernon Woodhead is truly a man after my own heart. He understands the problem we have with foreigners and is working to put a stop to them coming into the country."

    "''Lady'' Susan isn''t a lady as far as anyone can tell, but there is something strange about her." John smiled, "Robert Clamp, now there is a right entertaining fellow."

    Cat knew about ''Lady'' Susan. She had a great deal of money, which it was assumed by the lower class came from ''independent'' means. She throws secret parties and has funded many young artists. Her style, however, is often in opposition to the young and lively nature of her companions. Her dress for the evening, for example, was an elegant and charming green and gray but it was in an old fashioned style. Not outdated, per say, but her clothes bespoke age and mystery.

    Professor Omar''s scent of foreign spices lingered on John''s arm long after he was assisted out of the carriage. John gave his arm a look of disgust, "I don''t trust foreigners myself." He looked sideways at Cat, "Now, I''ve met a few proper Englishmen with dark skin, I don''t mean them. But Professor Kassam Omar, he''s from Egypt or some other North African country. Can''t tell ''em apart and I don''t care too." He snorted disdainfully, "Can''t even be bothered to dress like a proper man." John was, of course, referring to the fez Professor Omar was wearing.

    "I''ve heard" he mentioned conspiratorially, "Mr. Oswald will roll any girl as long as she''s tall. His maids complain about his antics non-stop while all claiming he''s never touched them." John shrugged, "Though they would have to. It could ruin them if he had. While Mrs. Eleanor Robert is a worse gossip than a fishwife."

    Cat gazed after the flashy and threadbare doctor, there was something familiar about him. She was certain she had seen him before¡­ somewhere.

    "Now, that Dr. Francis goes out on outings and comes home with blood on his clothes. Mrs. Ann Tweeden goes out on occasion too, but wherever she goes, she doesn''t want even her coachman to know."

    Cat needed no introduction to the giant polar bear that came next. He, to her surprise, noticed her and gave her a long slow wink. "Dr. Alexi Tolstoy is a bloody Russian." Fury made his face red as he spoke, "They say he was a great surgeon in his homeland, but who cares about that? We''re still fighting them, it pains me to no end that we are entertaining one tonight."

    When an especially lavish coach approached John cautioned Cat in a whisper, "Mind your hands, the Lady Elizabeth Dubshire and her son Lord Henry Dubshire''s horses will take your fingers off. And careful with your pockets, servants of good repute have been known to catch a trinket around them."

    His warning was senseless. How could anyone''s pocket "catch" a trinket? But when she reached for the bridle she saw how the horses eyes rolled wildly. On closer inspection, the color was off. Not just that, it was wrong. Glassy and dead looking, though the horse''s breath was still frightfully hot as it tried to take her hand.

    Though she was busy trying to keep her hand in working order, this made her consider John''s warning again. When the Dubshires were safely inside Cat asked, "Shall we do a pocket check, sir?"

    "Pocket check? Are you accusing me of theft?" Given John''s previous warning, Cat was shocked by his response.

    "No, sir. But you did say that things can fall into one''s pocket around them. I''d rather have you here as a witness to say I stole nothing than be surprised later."

    Suspicion arose for a moment before being quenched, "Very well."

    They both turned out their pockets one at a time. In John''s breeches was a gold ring, obviously of high quality, set with emeralds. He recoiled in horror and threw it into the street. "I¡­ I didn''t!"

    Cat waved her hand, "Relax. You would hardly warn me and then steal in front of me. Besides, I saw the lady put it there."

    Fear had not faded from his face. He reminded Cat of a frightened horse. "She¡­ put it there?"

    Cat nodded solemnly. It amazed her how people could still be surprised at the evil in humans. Especially after commenting on it being there. Although, he was probably just repeating what he had heard. Most likely, he didn''t believe that those servants were framed. "Yes."

    John shook his head, "Why? Why would anyone do that? Doesn''t she understand that would destroy me? Not only me, but I send money back home to help with my brothers and sisters. If I were ruined for theft, they would starve and my whole family''s reputation would be tarnished."

    Cat shrugged. "Maybe she''s wicked. Maybe she hates all people or just servants, or maybe she was looking for a way to discredit the hosts. Put something in your pocket and shame the Pickerings." Cat tapped her chin thinking in a way Dravan often did, "I bet there is magic in the game. Magic so you won''t notice, magic so she can find it."

    John, though still shaken was trying to pull himself together, "How do you know so much about magic? I thought all magic users had to register with the academy?"

    "Lady MacNeal''s older brother is a professor at the academy. When he thinks on a problem he forgets who is around and talks a lot." Cat stretched, "He''s said once that noble women rarely register with the academy. Their families don''t want them going to university, wanting them to go to finishing school or to have tutors instead. So we really don''t know how many women can cast."

    John eyed the ring with trepidation, "Should we bring it inside?"

    Cat shook her head, "No. It''s probably going to make you forget, like it made you not want to check your pocket. Either way, it''s a trap. Let it stay in the road and then it can be said that it simply fell off her finger."

    John nodded.

    The next carriage arrived quickly enough and John attempted to continue the same gossip he had before. After Mr. Bryne had shown Miss Margaret Longbottom inside the house, he said, "Ugly girl, that one. Poor thing doesn''t have to be either. I have it on good authority that under all that make up and time she was a handsome lass. She had suitors, still does even with her face as it is. Her father has money enough that her disposition doesn''t matter as much as it could." John shook his head, "I can''t fathom how a girl like her, with no thoughts in her head, not even those put there, could put her foot down when it comes to marriage."

    John, though he had done an admirable job trying to regain control, was still shaken after the Miss Longbottom''s carriage arrived. He went inside through the servants door. For a moment Cat considered following. Certainly, she wanted to see the lavish spread, but she didn''t want to be pressed into service again.

    She looked up and saw an open window on the second floor. I can make that, no problem. She went around to the side of the house where she wouldn''t be seen from the street and began climbing.

    It was easy going. Ivy grew up the side of the house on a sturdy trellis. Cat had scaled taller buildings with less handholds. She slipped onto the balcony, crawling over the stone ledge. Cat crept in through the window. The room was eloquent, expensive and feminine. If she had been here on her own initiative, she would have lingered, women always kept expensive jewelry that could be fenced. But I can''t. I need to find the good doctor''s room.

    She opened the door and slipped down the hall, taking quick peeks in the other rooms while looking for Dr. Pickering. She had assumed they would be right next to each other, but that was not the chase. Immediately next to Sophie Pickering''s room was a very strange room. It was a nursery.

    I didn''t think they had children. Cat turned to leave but couldn''t. Something odd drew her in. The nursery was set assuming that a child would be brought in tomorrow. There was a silver rattle by the crib. It had no teeth marks on it, but was worn on the handle from someone holding in repeatedly. Strange for an item that should have seen no use. Perhaps Mrs. Pickering visits the room? It must be quite often to have the rattle that worn.

    The room was filled with toys that had never been played with, children''s clothes that had never been used¡­ It was weird. Cat backed out of the room. The ghosts of children never born made her unwilling to turn her back on the room.

    She was headed down the hall to Dr. Pickering''s room when the sound of glass breaking shattered the still air. Screams rose from the downstairs.

    I''ve got to get out of here! Cat hurried back into the mistress'' room and looked over the balcony. Mr. Taurus lay in the street, unconscious or dead. A wagon stood still before the house. Cat climbed over the balcony and began scaling her way down. She could hear fighting coming from inside the house.

    Cat ran over to the wagon and began to lift the tarp that covered it. Over the chaos, she heard a faint hissing sound. Cat jerked her hand back, dropping the tarp in the process. Snakes in the wagon? She shook her head, It''ll be unpleasant riding in the undercarriage, but better than riding with whatever is in there. Hopefully, we don''t hit too many bumps and puddles. She thought with a grimace as she climbed under the wagon instead, wedging herself underneath. She would find out where they were taking their spoils and tell Lady MacNeal where the scoundrels went.

 B#1 - C#13

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Thirteeth or Cat''s Attempts to Resolve the Escape of the Serpent-Man

    The thick fog around the wagon Cat was hiding under, clung to the ground. It was so opaque that Cat could barely see the cobble stones beneath her, suspended under the villain''s wagon. Her body was wedged in a way that was at once unpleasant and comfortingly familiar. She was used to tight places because of the bolt-hole she kept in the sewers. The closeness of her precarious place made her feel secure in a way that few other places could - she always felt safe in cramped quarters.

    Surveying her surroundings, her eyes fell on the ring the footman had flung away, after discovering that Lady Dubshire had slipped it into his pocket. It was just at the edge of her vision, barely visible through the fog. The ring was under the cart and sparkled invitingly.

    Greed was a natural instinct for a street rat, but her nature was far craftier than the average slum dweller, How can I use this? She mused to herself. Cat began to reason to herself, For the Lady Dubshire to be so willing to hand out jewelry, she must have a way to track it¡­ which means when the old bat tries to get her ring¡­ I can use it to lead a rescue party to where I am¡­ or where the wagon is.

    Cat reached down to pick up the flash[1]</a>, but before her fingers brushed the surface, revulsion filled her. The ring felt slimy and evil in her mind, so she decided not to touch it. She wanted to fling it away from herself, even as she never wanted to touch it. Her plan, to tie the ring with a bit of twine to the spoke of a wheel, died.

    If I''m near this ring, she thought then the old witch will accuse me of theft. That would reflect poorly on Lady MacNeal. She was trying to justify the feeling she got. It was one she had gotten a few times before, normally when dealing with strange men on the street. It was one of the reasons she dressed as a boy. Fewer men were interested in a lad''s flesh than a girl''s. But even with the disguise in place, she had felt men leer at her, felt the hair on the nape of her neck rise in fear and disgust. Dread curled around her soul as she looked at the ring.

    I must think of a different plan¡­ She thought as she freed a hand to fumble in her pockets. Twine, bit of broken knife, three nails, some copper wire¡­ a few gears, five marbles and a few pieces of coal. The coal was freshly nicked from the Pickering''s house. It was her habit to filch a few pieces at every opportunity. Coal was too expensive for her to be able to purchase and was a necessity in the cold air of London. Her bolt-hole had a tiny tot FATSCO[2]</a>coal burning stove in it. Each piece of the six inch diameter stove had been carefully stolen and then reassembled in her hole. The chimney had been painstakingly dug through the walls until she had reached a real chimney.

    The family she had inserted her chimney into was prosperous enough that they cleaned their chimney enough to prevent the thing from clogging, which would have been disastrous for her. Asphyxiation was not something she was interested in experiencing. But the family couldn''t be too prosperous either. If they were really wealthy, then the hole she made would have been noticed and ultimately, plugged.

    Cat had formed the habit of using the clinker[3]</a>and ash from her stove and used it to mark her territory in the dank sewers. Humans, ghouls and even smarter animals would turn tail and run when they came to her marks. She had worked hard to get that reputation for that area¡­ and to make sure that reputation wasn''t connected to her. Cat was quite pleased with some of the traps she had created for her underworld lair. If hadn''t taken many deaths for sentient beings to know not to cross her lines.

    That was something she was particularly pleased with. As a street rat, she felt a certain level of kinship with the other rats and didn''t wish them harm. She just needed her own safety first. That was why when she had seen one of her traps dragging Thorn under the mucky sludge she had rescued him, pretending to be fellow wanderer. She had warned him off of ever returning to the area and he had spread that warning.

    With a coruscate[4]</a>of insight, she looked at the coal, turning it in her hand and decided that making a mark would be worth the loss of coal. Maybe I can bill Lady MacNeal for it? The thought was foolish, of course. Not that the lady wouldn''t pay, no. She would happily give Cat an entire crate of coal, but Cat liked to earn her way. Do things herself. That was why she kept her hole in the first place instead of joining a gang.

    Another reason she carried coal, one hidden in her mind even to herself, was that she always had an itch to write. She

    was, of course, illiterate, but the hunger to write still burbled inside of her. Letters were shrouded by confusion in her mind. Butthere was a set of symbols that was not.

    With the coal held awkwardly between two fingers and her thumb Cat leaned down and drew the thief¡¯s symbol for "Place to Fence Goods". Then, inspired by the sound of slithering above her, she drew a few wiggly, snaky lines. She finished with a sigh and eyed her work. It''ll do. I just hope I can keep it up.

    As Cat clung to the underside of the wagon, she heard the thugs load the sarcophagus and what sounded like two sacks full of trinkets. One by one, the thieves climbed in. Cat had expected to hear screams of fear or pain almost immediately. There were snakes in the wagon, after all. But the men seemed to not to notice, or not to mind. I bet they haven''t noticed yet. Cat thought. No true man of the Empire would sit in a box of snakes willingly.

    The wagon pulled away from the Pickering''s. The street lamps only serving to make the fog around them glow eerily. Cat kept her coal pressed to the cobblestones, hoping to leave a trail. She was also hoping that the stones wouldn''t take her fingers off. The way the wagon was gaining speed, it was going to become a real possibility soon.

    The wagon rounded a corner at break neck speed, turning so fast two of the wheels lifted from the street. It was as if that were the sign for pandemonium to break loose above. Screams erupted from the wagon. One of the wheels hit a poorly maintained cobble and the wagon was jostled.

    A human fell from the wagon, his head striking the stone with a sickeningly wet crack. She had seen falls that ended in sounds like that before. A man didn''t walk away from that.

    Another man fell from the wagon, his arm twisted terribly under him. Cat tried not to focus on the sounds of hissing, the shouting and the fighting going on above her. From the way the horses were swerving, it was clear there was a physical argument over who was in control of the rigging.

    The more erratic the turns became, the more Cat tried to focus on leaving a trail. Her piece of coal had dissolved to nothingness, the result of too many puddles in the streets. Before it finished disintegrating, she pulled out a second piece of coal and began to use it instead. I''m going to run out of coal at this rate. She bemoaned the loss of her resources.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Even as her second piece of coal was dissolving to little more than a nib, the horses¡¯ hooves skidded on the street, for they were being pulled so strongly one of the horses sat on its haunches. The wagon, which had been attempting to turn, hit a raised stone curb causing it to tumble over spilling the contents of the wagon; corpses, treasure and snakes onto the dingy streets and flinging Cat after them. She was flung so violently that she landed yards away. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and she lay stunned on the ground.

    Corpses were strewn about the street, their bodies bloated with venom, faces twisted in agony. The boarman lay only a few feet from her, foamy saliva dried on his lips and chin. A serpent, jet black and with a terrible hood, bit the face of the man. It was as if his continued warmth offended the creature. The elapid[5]</a>turned its horrible head toward her, and made a single preliminary movement toward her.

    Cat lay still, hoping that her bright powder blue livery would fail to attract additional attention. She sent up a tendril of hope to the Divine that He would turn the snake from her. Her breath was slow and quite, trying to appear dead, though she knew that hadn''t saved the boarman. Cat''s eyes were trained on the overturned wagon, the naga, the snakes and the treasures that had been stolen from the Pickerings. She was determined to harvest as much information as she could with the time she had. A few pieces were scintillating[6]</a>in the cold light of the gas lights having fallen from a bag that had torn as if they were stars fallen from the night''s sky.

    The snakeman, still dressed as some sort of Egyptian priest, picked up the headdress that had been stolen and placed it on his head. He lifted his hands into the air like he was about to call down a storm and spoke, "Tssss!" his words were nothing more than hissing sounds but the serpent from the boarman''s corpse and the other snakes as well turned to him. There was a moment of hesitation before they slithered over to him.

    The naga used his tail to grab the sarcophagus while one hand was busy with the two sacks full of stolen goods and the other lifted the lid to the sewers.

    My domain. She thought watching him descend into the inky blackness of her home. The snakes he had with him made her wary. It would be a long time before she forgot the puffy face of the boarman. But¡­ The sewers are MY land. If I allow those serpents to live there I will never be safe, every rustle will make me dream of them¡­

    She crept to the sewer hole and peered in. There was little light, but that wasn''t what she was hoping for. She strained her ears, listening. She heard the grunts and groans of someone carrying a heavy object, along with the scrapes as it dragged against the tunnel. Voices reached her ears and then the scratching sound stopped. The hissing of snakes was constant, but also retreating.

    Cat drew the "Place to Fence Goods" symbol at the edge of the sewer and slipped inside the black portal. The fetid, warm and moist air embraced her like an old friend. The serpents movements disturbed the sewer''s putrid winds and directed her more clearly than if they were making a glowing path.

    Her boots clicked on the stone ledge as she dropped down from the worn metal ladder. In the slums, the ladders were worn thin from the many hands that used them and rusted from the constant moisture in the air. In this posh neighborhood the ladders into Lower London were rust free, relatively new and clean compared to the rest of Lower London.

    Cat''s familiarity with the environment told her that she had a boot width and a half before she would fall into the muck bellow. Not something that she ever wanted for herself. Assuming a man wasn''t eaten by the creatures living in the putrid, murky waters; it was likely that he would come out with a sickness. Thorn would have succumbed to the sickness if she hadn''t brought him to one of Lady MacNeal''s shelters for orphans.

    The Lady herself had the healing touch, though few if any priests acknowledged that a woman could, and her gentle hands had carried the boy back to life. It had left a lasting impression on Cat and solidified her view of the Lady.

    The wretched serpents could be heard slithering against the stone. Lower London echoed confusingly to all but the most familiar, which meant that should they hear Cat coming, she knew they would not know from which direction she came. It gave her confidence as she pursued them. She was unaware that snakes of all kinds used their bodies to detect tiny tremors of movement from the ground.

    Rats crept along the ledge as well. In general, they were comparable in size to a cat. When she paused they crawled over her boots with no regard to her. Their indignant squeaks as they passed all the regard that they gave her. Those rats didn''t worry her. It was the rats that were the ones as large as a hunting hound that concerned her. Their size made them feel entitled and they were ferociously mean.

    She could smell her clinker mark not far ahead. If they cross it some of them will be killed, quite the bonus. However¡­ I don''t want them to lose the goods.

    There was a quiet "snick" sound, followed by the familiar thud of a bolt pinning something living to the wall. That was lucky. Did it hit the snakeman? She considered, No, that wouldn''t have pinned him, there isn''t enough force in the bolt to fling that guy across the sewer. It must have been one of the little snakes. Little was a relative term here. Each serpent had been between one and two meters, which was quite large to Cat. However, all the elapids were significantly smaller than the naga.

    Cat heard three more of her bolt traps going off. One probably hit the sarcophagus, for it had clearly struck stone. A second missed everything entirely; she would be able to reset that one without having to¡­ procure¡­ another bolt. The third¡­ she didn¡¯t know where it had gone; couldn¡¯t tell by the sounds, but it sounded like it hit something fleshy.

    Cat passed the cobra pinned to the opposing side of the tunnel. She hesitated; I will have to come back for that. Maybe I can make a trap from it¡­ Unfortunately, there wasn¡¯t time for that. If the snake was there when she returned, she would see what use it could be, if not, that was life.

    She followed them until the tunnels split and the naga headed away from her territory. The hissing of snakes echoed all around her. How did they get around behind me? She was surrounded by cobras and she could hear the faint sounds of the sarcophagus being dragged away, leaving her trapped and her goal slowly creeping further away.

    <hr>

    [1]</a>Slang for jewelry

    [2]</a>The smallest available stove

    [3]</a>The remains of coal that won''t burn

    [4]</a>Sparkle, twinkle, flash, glitter. Used in particular with regard to flashes of wit or intellectual illumination.

    [5]</a>A snake with permanently erect fangs in the front of the upper jaw: New World coral snakes, the cobras and more Australian snakes.

    [6]</a>Sparkling

 B#1 - C#14

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Fourteenth or Cat and the Voice in the Darkness

    Sweat dripped down the center of Cat¡¯s back. The stink of fear clouded any other scents. The clothes she had been given by the Pickering¡¯s for her role as servant had been ruined by the mephitic[1]</a>vapors of the sewers and the clammy humidity which made her clothes cling to her. She was trying to breathe slow and deep, trying to slow her pulse, trying to make herself less of a target for the snakes.

    It wasn¡¯t working. They were closing in on her. Their tongues licked the air with an evil hiss. The sounds of their scales slithering against the slimy stone grated on her ears. Paranoia had heightened her senses. She felt like she could smell the reptilian tang of their flesh. She shivered.

    This is it. I¡¯m going to die. The thought crept into her brain and pinned down her fear. Her heart slowed. There was no need to panic because there was nothing to be done. It¡¯s over. The lady will be sad. I wish someone could tell her where I fell. A morose peace settled on her shoulders. I hope someone finds my body so I can be buried on the surface. The sewer was her home, and she loved it, but she didn¡¯t want to be trapped in the dark forever. The freedom of the sewer was the ability to go anywhere, dying in the sewer was the opposite of why she loved it.

    Even though, in the cloying darkness of the sewers, she couldn¡¯t see she kept her eyes open. It was better, she believed, to meet death with her eyes open. Her head slowly turned from side to side with every movement of the serpents, her attempt to face her death. She needed to track it, measure it. Know when it was coming.

    It was because of this hopeless belief that she saw the putrid green glow rising up from the sewer water in front of her. The light bloomed slowly, seemly over agonizing minutes. It took her a while to notice that she could see in the sewer, she had been trying so hard to imagine where everything was. Slowly, her hands moved up and clamped down on her mouth. Her terror of the snakes was nothing compared to her horror of what was rising up in front of her.

    The snakes, as if by enchantment, were focused single mindedly on their target. Their hoods flared, their fangs dripped venom, and they were poised to strike. They were unerring and single minded in their movements.

    The glow from the fetid water grew stronger. A pale white, knobby spine broke the surface of the foul water. It was like a corpse rising slowly from the bottom of the river. A naked, glabrous[2]</a>body; one that had likely starved to death after years hidden in darkness had drained all colour from its skin. The green glow came from the creature. From the crown of the corpuscular creature¡¯s head to the end of its tail bone was a three centimeter wide luminescent green strip.

    It was clear. It was distinctive. Everyone who crawled the sewers knew what that glow meant. If you live to see the glow, you¡¯re already dead.

    It was a ghoul. Ghouls were the boogie men of the lower class. Anyone who walked near a sewer opening feared that a pallid, long nailed hand would grab them. The stories of people disappearing were as frightening as they were true.

    The ghoul¡¯s long, spindly hand snapped out of the water and snatched one of the striking cobras out of the air. Cat had eyes only for the ghoul. She didn¡¯t even notice that the creature was attacking the cobras. But she saw the ghoul bite the head of the serpent it had caught. It bit down with sharp tearing teeth and when it opened its mouth, it had fangs; because that was why ghouls were so terrifying. Whatever they ate, they gained power from.

    There weren¡¯t just normal creatures down in the sewers either. There were terrifying monsters, mutated things and each one a ghoul ate only made it stronger. Rumor had it that some ghouls could even use magic. Cat had always believed, hoped, that wasn¡¯t true.

    Cat was paralyzed with fear. She had never seen a ghoul before, part of why she was still alive. As the ghoul ate the snakes around her, clearly seeking their powerful venom, she was too afraid to run, to save herself. The ghoul¡¯s quick movements allowed it to snatch its prey out of the air before they could strike Cat. The serpents only turned their venom on the pale monster after it had caught them.

    ¡°Cat! Run!¡± The voice was familiar; Lady MacNeal¡¯s voice always reminded her of it: wise, compassionate and feminine. It was the same voice that had saved her the first time she had come into the sewer, frightened and young, having just been chased off after the fire. ¡°Run, Cat! I¡¯ll handle the ghoul!¡±

    Blue sparkling fey lights danced through the air. They pressed around the ghoul and pushed her away. Cat was too terrified to marvel at their beauty or to wonder where they had come from.

    She didn¡¯t pause to question how the other had come upon them when Cat had heard no one come, or how the other would stop a ghoul. She turned and ran. Some of the dancing lights sparked and made her racing feet move faster. Her footfalls were heavy on the stone ledge that was her path. She slipped once, falling hard on her knees, but managed to keep herself from tumbling into the muck. She dragged a filthy arm across her eyes and was surprised to find her eyes were wet. Cat tried not to care for people, it was better that way, but the voice¡­ it had cared for her longer than anyone else and the owner was assuredly dead.

    Her memories of her time with the voice in the dark were vague and often she thought of them more as a fever dream than reality. The first memory Cat had was of being dressed in warm woolen clothes, sitting on a hard wooden bench and a frighteningly old woman bent over her like miser counting coins. The crone¡¯s back was as hooked as her fingers; but as knobby and frail as the old woman was, her grip was like iron and when she struck Cat with a switch, it burned like fire.

    The woman had been speaking to her aggressively; somewhere between angry and excited. Cat was trying to focus on the letters the hag was trying to teach her, but they swam before her eyes. She didn¡¯t understand them, couldn¡¯t focus on them. Then the chalk board she was writing on burst into flames. The board melted, the desk caught fire, and even the chalk she used to write was burning.

    The crone was screaming terrible screams. The smell of burnt cloth and burning fat, sweet like cooking pork, clung to the memory. Then Cat remembered running. Fleeing the smoke and the fire and the beating that she knew was waiting for her. Whatever had happened was her fault and she would be terribly punished for it.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She hadn¡¯t meant to go into the sewer the first time. It had been raining, pouring flooding rain     , there was so much coal soot in the air that the rain burned her skin and everyone was trying to escape the painful water. People were shoving, throwing elbows, she fell and the water was so strong she was washed down a storm drain.

    Something pale and cool to the touch had grabbed her before she fell into the stinking river of filth that ran inside the sewer. The light had been dim, but not pitch black. Something¡­ that should have been odd. The clouds were so thick outside, that day, that noon was as dark as twilight.

    The voice, when it first spoke, had been strange. Unintelligible. The words skittered over her mind like the legs of a thousand spiders. ¡°Child.¡± The word was spoken slowly carefully, as if the speaker was concerned that she wouldn¡¯t understand the words.

    Cat had blinked in the darkness and replied, ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Where are your parents, child?¡± the voice was sad and cautious, ¡°Small morsels like you shouldn¡¯t wander dangerous places like this. Haven¡¯t you ever heard of ghouls?¡±

    Cat began to cry. She had heard of ghouls. In between sniffles she said, ¡°I don¡¯t have any parents and they will be so angry with me.¡±

    The voice pulled Cat against it. Its skin was smooth, soft and cold like a fish against Cat¡¯s cheek. ¡°Children should have someone to look after them. It is a crime for something so small to be so alone.¡± The voice¡¯s hand touched Cat¡¯s hair gently, almost reverently, ¡°What is your name, child? You have a name you are called by, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Cat never wanted to be called Caterina again. It was a name from a time of bondage and pain. ¡°Cat. My name is Cat. What is your name?¡±

    Cat heard the mirth in the voice as it chuckled. ¡°Cat, Hmm?¡± The voice became almost musical, the song almost nepenthe[3]</a>, ¡°A cat is a fine thing to be. They are really excellent predators. Pound for pound,¡± the voice mused, ¡°I would say they are one of the greatest predators around.¡±

    The voice had never told Cat its name. For a year or two, Cat had tried to think of a name to call it, but any name she thought of just felt wrong. The voice was what it was; something in the darkness, nameless.

    It was the voice that had taught Cat to pretend to be a boy; to dress like one, talk like one, and to act like one. The voice had told her that bad things happened to women and girls on the street; that she would be safer, though not safe, as a boy. Cat had created her world in the dark of the sewers, found her bolt hole with its help, survived so much.

    Now her friend was dead. Dead because of me. She choked back a sob.

    ¡°Why are you crying, Cat?¡± The voice whispered near Cat.

    Cat whirled around, almost slipping on the slick stones under her. ¡°You¡¯re alive? How?¡±

    The voice laughed throatily, ¡°Cat, I have been in these sewers longer than you have been alive. I know how to handle ghouls.¡±

    Cat was full of questions to ask.

    Humor glistened about the edges of the voice¡¯s words, ¡°Cat, you are always so sapid[4]</a>. It is a joy to¡­ interject my opinion into your adventures.¡±

    A slow smirk spread across Cat¡¯s face. As if you only come by when I¡¯m in trouble. Cat was almost certain that the voice was nearby whenever she was in the sewers, though they both preferred for Cat to solve her own problems. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you do it, but you¡¯ve saved my neck countless times. I¡¯d like to help you someday.¡±

    The voice spoke again, this time, it was strained. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I need to go. Your friends are coming for you.¡± The voice became softer as if drifted away, ¡°If you are still tracking the serpent-man; follow this tunnel till the water dries, the walls will change to sandstone, be careful there are a lot of traps in that area.¡±

    Cat had never seen the voice before; she never managed to have a lamp when the other came around. ¡°Thanks!¡± She called out softly, before heading down the oubliette[5]</a>, after the serpent-man.

    <hr />

    [1]</a>Stinking, noxious. Strictly speaking, foul or poisonous exhalations from the earth or other low-level source

    [2]</a>Having a surface free from hair

    [3]</a>Something that brings forgetfulness of sorrow and suffering

    [4]</a>Flavorsome, lively, interesting

    [5]</a>A dungeon, often in the form of a deep and narrow well or hole in the ground, designed for the permanent incarceration of those whom it is desired to forget. From the French oublier which means ¡°to forget¡±

 B#1 - C#15

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Fifteenth or How Dravan Found Cat in the Sewers

    Lady MacNeal knelt beside Mr. Taurus in the street, dabbing his head with a cool cloth and calling his name as she tried to bring him back to wakefulness. She glanced around, trying carefully to not look at the mangled bodies and saw a street rat loitering nearby. She beckoned to him.

    She held out a shilling, ¡°I want you to bring a message to my brother Dravan.¡±

    The coin disappeared. ¡°The boat mage? The one that helps all the whores?¡± The boy raised his eyebrow.

    I didn¡¯t realize he had made quite a name for himself. She thought with a mental sigh. ¡°Yes, that would be the one. Tell him that his sister Adeline requests his assistance immediately.¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What if he turns me into a toad?¡±

    It was something she could imagine him threatening when his research was interrupted. ¡°Then tell the message to the woman that lives with him. Sarah.¡±

    The boy nodded once and ran off into the night. Not for the first time, Adeline pretended she did not know what Sarah had been or possibly, was. It would not do for people to know that she knew. A lady wasn¡¯t supposed to know prostitutes existed. Prostitutes are like ghouls. A rumor. Except that, prostitutes are actually real.

    Mr. Taurus sat up. His eyes were unfocused and a small stream of blood ran from his nose. He blinked a few times before his eyes focused on Lady MacNeal, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I tried to stop them.¡±

    Blood and gore oozed across the cobblestones.

    She patted his hand, ¡°It¡¯s all right, you did what you could.¡±

    Lord Farcical came over to them; there was swagger in his step. ¡°I wish I knew the direction the bastards fled in; I¡¯d give them a taste of hot lead!¡± He brandished his pistol suggestively.

    ¡°Now, John,¡± Adeline said familiarly, ¡°There is no need to get excited. I¡¯ve just sent a lad to get Dravan; I imagine he¡¯ll be here in a bit.¡±

    ¡°The trail will be long cold by then!¡±

    Mr. Taurus struggled to his hooves, ¡°Cat must have gone after them.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Lady MacNeal said, her voice strained.

    ¡°Well, the bloke isn¡¯t around and you didn¡¯t send him to tell Dravan. So the boy is: either burned to death in the house or chasing the villains. I prefer to think he¡¯s on the chase.¡±

    The blood from the humans and beastmen Mr. Taurus had taken care of with his shotgun met the symbol Cat had drawn on the cobbles. Flames shot straight up as the blood reacted with the symbol before flames shot down the street. The fire extinguished itself before anyone could react, let alone follow.

    ¡°You are probably right.¡± Adeline said dryly. She hadn¡¯t known Cat had magic. Perhaps it was a charm the child had picked up, but she had been around magic users long enough to know untamed magic when she saw it.

    Lady MacNeal looked back toward the flaming house. The servants had made a chain carrying buckets from the water spigot to the house. Although the undercook was there, the cook was nowhere to be seen. The butler was organizing the servants, barking orders and maintaining calm. In the distance, police and fire wagon bells could be heard ringing.

    The doctor was crouching next to one guest and then the next, checking them for burns or any other fire or smoke related illness. Adeline looked away, ¡°Either we should be helping to put out the fire, collecting evidence or chasing the villains. Since we are waiting on Dravan to give chase, that leaves the other two options.¡±

    Mr. Taurus grunted and went to grab a bucket. Lord Farcical sighed and joined him. Not for the first time, Adeline felt herself chafe under society¡¯s expectations of a lady. She sighed and joined the nobility in their gossiping. Lord Longfellow looked up from his wife and excused himself before joining Lord Farcical on the bucket line.

    Most of the guests were wringing their hands, having the vapors or generally panicking. There were a few notable exceptions to this. Lady Dubshire watched the whole affair with disgust, while her son looked on with barely concealed amusement. Professor Omar seemed to be intrigued by everything and seemed for a moment, tempted to sneak off, but upon seeing some of the nobles assist the servants, he too joined them. Seemingly unaware of the irony, Mr. Robert lit his pipe immediately upon exiting the burning building. While Captain Carrington, one hand firmly clenched around a glass of whiskey and the other holding a pistol, shouted for the men to gather together for a ¡°bloody hunt¡±.

    Adeline couldn¡¯t resist asking Lady Scarlet about Captain Carrington¡¯s whiskey, ¡°Did he pour himself a tumbler of whiskey before leaving the burning building?¡±

    Scarlet¡¯s laughter was musical and enchanting, ¡°It appears so. We certainly weren¡¯t served whiskey at dinner.¡±

    ¡°I should hope not! Whiskey would have been most inappropriate!¡± Mrs. Eleanor Robert exclaimed.

    Scarlet laughed again, ¡°At least he is a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.¡±

    Dravan arrived with Sarah in a hired cab. He went to his sister and interrupted her conversation, ¡°You requested me? This had better be good. I was in the middle of important research.¡±

    The women around her gasped, with the exception of Lady Scarlet who had known Dravan before becoming Lady Scarlet. Adeline smiled winningly. ¡°Dear brother, when have I ever called you away for something less than the utmost importance?¡±

    Dravan scowled, ¡°Never. Which is why I am here. How can I solve your problem so I can return to solving mine?¡±

    Adeline¡¯s glowing smile did not falter, even though her heart did. Dravan was never that short with her. He always complained about being pulled away from his research, of course, but he adored his little sister and would do anything for her. What could be so important? And why hasn¡¯t he shared it with me? ¡°Cat is chasing the criminals that broke into the Pickering¡¯s home and stole some valuable artifacts. Can you track him?¡±

    The fire was largely extinguished by this point, so Mr. Taurus and Lord Farcical were returning to Lady MacNeal¡¯s side.

    Dravan snorted. ¡°Of course, I can.¡± Dravan glanced to the house when there was a small explosion inside; he calmly pulled out a knife and cut his arm before throwing the blood into the air with a shout. The bubble that the Pickering¡¯s had hired some other mage to cast around the house collapsed and every fire inside the house was extinguished. Blood continued to dribble down his arm. He flicked his hand again with another shout. An air filtration spell surrounded the entire house, the grounds and well into the street. When his sister raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged, ¡°The sounds of the fire were distracting and it would be impolite to leave their house without air protections after I used them to put out the fires.¡±

    Out of the corner of her eye, Adeline thought that Lady Dubshire had gone very pale indeed. Her son was no longer smiling, his lips pursed in a tight line.

    ¡°So you can track Cat?¡± Anya had wandered over. Everyone was generally smoke stained and disheveled, but she seemed to have rolled in something. Her dress was in such ruins that nothing could be done with the costly fabric except to tear it up and use it as cleaning rags.

    Dravan eyed the napiform with disgust. He tried to hide his distaste from his sister, but his emotions were written across his face.

    Adeline looked between the Halfling and her brother, What has been going on? He hates her.

    Dravan took out a mechanical cat. It was the size of his thumb. He breathed on it before setting it onto the ground. The mechanical cat grew to be the size of a hunting hound before it began trotting off. ¡°Yes.¡± He started following it before looking back, ¡°Anyone else coming?¡±

    Mr. Taurus, Lord Farcical, Professor Kassam Omar and a somewhat stunned Lord Longfellow followed him. Captain Carrington had passed out on the lawn. Adeline¡¯s eyes followed her brother. I wish I could go. Anya, heedless of her dress or propriety followed after the men. I will need to find her a position somewhere she cannot continue to harm my reputation. She glanced over at Mr. Tweddle; Perhaps there is a place at the museum¡­

    Dravan followed the mechanical cat. His short legs pumping to keep up with it. He was puffing slightly before he thought to cast a few spells to help himself. One for endurance, one for speed, and one to help his lungs pull more oxygen from the air. He didn¡¯t think to cast on any of the others. With the exception of Anya, who shouldn¡¯t have been there anyway, they were longer legged than he was.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Dravan noticed the black mark singed into the cobblestones. It coincided curiously with the direction the cat was running. They began to find the bodies. The corpses were bloated from venom, their bones twisted in unnatural angles from their falls from the wagon.

    Dravan pointed to one of the corpses. ¡°That would be cobra venom. I¡¯ve seen the effects before when one of my students was trying to use it in a potion. Fool had an open wound, we all do in the academy most times, but he got some of the venom in it. Boy almost lost his arm. Fool.¡± He spat with disgust. ¡°A mage should always know what they are working with.¡±

    The mechanical cat circled the open sewer and meowed. It was an odd clockwork sound. It reminded Mr. Taurus of a bird chirping rather than a cats meow.

    Lord Farcical looked at the sewer dubiously. ¡°Do we¡­ go in?¡±

    Dravan raised an eyebrow at the noble, ¡°Well¡­ that depends. If you want to find the child, then yes, we will have to go in.¡±

    Lord Farcical began to climb into the sewer.

    Dravan continued, ¡°But if you want to get out alive and untainted you will let me enchant you first.¡±

    Lord Farcical quickly got off the ladder to wait on the gnome. ¡°What could kill us down there?¡±

    Dravan didn¡¯t need any concentration to cast these protection spells. ¡°There are many things that could kill in the sewers. For one, the air. The air above the sewer is so poisonous it can kill an unborn child. If you don¡¯t believe me, ask my sister¡¯s children.¡±

    Mr. Taurus raised a bushy eyebrow, ¡°You only had the one nephew.¡±

    Dravan glared at the minotaur sharply, ¡°Exactly.¡± Dravan continued, ¡°The miasma[1]</a>in the sewers has concentrated doses of the toxins we find above, combine that with the methane and other gases that come from the breakdowns of waste and you could find yourself dead rather quickly. Or incapacitated and then dead.

    Dravan continued, ¡°Then, of course, there is the illegal dumping that the companies do. Queen Victoria has banned some things, but no one is really enforcing any of the bans. Who knows what chemicals they are washing down there, and before you ask why it matters, remember that simply by burning the right composition of coal we have experienced multiple occasions of acidic rain.¡±

    The people surrounding Dravan nodded, they had all experienced it to one degree or another. Lord Longfellow nodded vigorously. The acidic rain had injured his favorite hunting hounds twice. Foolish dogs wanted to play in the water.

    ¡°Then, you also have the magical dumping. Students, professors, mages that haven¡¯t been taught properly¡­ all these dumping their ¡®experiments¡¯ into the sewers.¡±

    Anya spoke up, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t do that. That would be unethical.¡±

    Dravan snorted. ¡°I¡¯m going to pretend you aren¡¯t being a naive idiot and are instead being facetious. Just like medical students ¡®don¡¯t dig up corpses¡¯ or ¡®pay for corpses to be delivered to them¡¯, students of the Academy ¡®don¡¯t use banned components¡¯ or ¡®dump those failures into the sewers¡¯.¡±

    Anya glared at him. ¡°I do not appreciate your tone.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t appreciate your acerebral[2]</a>behavior in the best of times, however when your belligerent ignorance will cause suffering to those under my charge, I would appreciate it if you would listen to those wiser than yourself or go home where your foolishness harms only yourself.¡± His eyes narrowed dangerously, ¡°I told you all that when I fired you. Your continued deliberate disregard for critical thinking worries me.¡±

    Anya huffed, but kept silent while Dravan finished explaining the dangers.

    ¡°Of course, you can¡¯t forget the ghouls.¡±

    Lord Farcical, to the amazement of Mr. Taurus, commented, ¡°Ghouls are like prostitutes. They aren¡¯t real.¡±

    Lord Jonathan Longfellow, who had married a courtesan and who had so much money and influence that he didn¡¯t give a damn who knew, laughed aloud. Professor Omar looked at Lord Longfellow with horror on his face. In the Professor¡¯s homeland, prostitutes were stoned if caught and men did not remember their time in such places.

    Dravan smirked. ¡°Right. Although they are similar to prostitutes in a variety of ways, I assure you. I would rather meet a lady of the night in a dark alley than a ghoul and they are just as real.¡± He waved the cat in a shooing motion, ¡°We are ready to enter the sewers. Please try not to fall into the river of slime, that would be most disagreeable for everyone.¡±

    Even with Dravan¡¯s protections, which filtered out anything that could cause them harm, there were so many smells it was over whelming. Anya particularly was affected. As a Halfling, she was gifted with an impeccable sense of smell. It allowed her to remember a scent for years and to distinguish between many scents to track a particular scent.

    If she had thought to, she could have tracked Cat on her scent alone. Unfortunately, Anya was constantly trying to shed any remembrance that she was a Halfling. They were almost never able to rise above the lower class because they universally loved good foods and good smells¡­ and an unfortunately large number of them had been caught attempting to steal interesting smelling things.

    The stones were slick, the plant life uliginous[3]</a>, the way was convoluted, but the cat brought them unerringly. They saw the cobra pinned to the wall by the bolt and it gave them all pause.

    ¡°Who set that trap up?¡±

    ¡°Hopefully, they triggered everything.¡±

    They came to the spot where Cat had been surrounded by the cobras, but there was no hint of any altercation. It was an unremarkable place that they passed through quickly. After some time, the stones seemed to slant upward. The tunnel, though it maintained its uncomfortable humidity, became dryer. The walls became a yellow sandy stone that seemed out of place in the cold land of England.

    The mechanical cat walked up to Cat and bumped its head against the child¡¯s leg. Cat was lounging against the stone. The clear white light of Dravan¡¯s witch light illuminated the grime that was streaked across her clothes.

    She stood up, rubbing the mechanical cat¡¯s head. ¡°Took you guys long enough.¡± She surveyed the group, ¡°I was kinda hoping you would bring the coppers. There is some kind of magic mumbo-jumbo going on. Sets my teeth on edge.¡±

    ¡°Does it¡­¡± Dravan murmured to himself. Then looked at Mr. Taurus, ¡°Taurus, how long did you last in the worst fight you¡¯ve ever been in?¡±

    Mr. Taurus eyed him oddly, ¡°At least a minute against twenty men with whips, chains and knives. No guns though.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine then. I only need a few seconds unmolested to resolve any problems we might encounter.¡± Dravan drew himself to his full height, which remained significantly shorter than Mr. Taurus¡¯ five feet. ¡°Unless it¡¯s a greater demon. Then you¡¯ll want to run¡­ quickly.¡±

    Lord Farcical and Anya both had small pistols drawn. Lord Farcical, at least, looked competent with a firearm. Anya just looked eager. Lord Longfellow had a cane, which seemed a strange weapon. The professor was unarmed.

    Wouldn¡¯t it normally be pipes, chains and knives? What was Mr. Taurus involved in that people had whips? Cat wondered. If Dravan said he could handle anything, Cat believed him. But whips were certainly a strange weapon to mention. Cat wondered about it as she led them into the sandstone tunnels, careful to disarm any traps she came across.

    <hr />

    [1]</a>noxious atmosphere or emanations

    [2]</a>brainless

    [3]</a>growing in muddy, oozy, or swampy places

 B#1 - C#16

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Sixteenth or How Cat Located the Sarcophagus and Where Things Went From There

    The brown stones had a gritty feel under the soft touch of Cat''s fingertips. They felt like the dirt from the bank of the Thames, except the granules were smaller and cleaner. This struck Cat as strange. Normally, everything in the sewers was disgusting and much of it had a pustulous quality, sometimes even hispid[1]</a>. The grey stone walls were slick with mold, moss and many other foul things. The very air was foul. Except here. The air was still bad, but the putrid filth ended when the blocks changed to sandstone.

    "Why isn''t there slime here?" Cat turned her head, looking back at Dravan. That doesn¡¯t even consider that I¡¯ve covered every inch of the London sewers on foot and never seen stones like this. She glared hard at the stones; I should have noticed an area like this being built, especially so close to my lands.

    A small smile tugged at Dravan''s lips, but he held it back, "The slime in the sewers may be foul, but it is still living. This place is cursed, nothing grows in it."      "How do you know?" Professor Omar asked. Sweat glistened on his brow. He dabbed it with a handkerchief.

    Dravan wiggled his fingers, "Magic." The floating orb that illuminated the sewers for them twinkled suggestively, briefly changing from white light to purple, red, blue and green, before returning to white.

    Anya rolled her eyes while Cat turned a snicker into a cough.

    Cat waved a hand at the others, trying to tell them to stop. It took the nobility being grabbed by Mr. Taurus to notice that they were to stop.

    "What is it, lad?" Lord Longfellow asked.

    Cat ignored his comment. She crouched down, her curious fingers exploring the floor. She leaned forward, now on her hands and knees. She leaned in and blew gently, exposing a curious metal device. Sweat was beading at her brow. Bloody hell. She glanced toward the wall. This is the activation switch for a trap that spans the entire opening of the sandstone area!

    "What''s the hold up."

    Cat gritted her teeth and leaned back. "Trap."

    Anya sighed loudly.

    ¡°Well,¡± Cat said, with exaggerated patience the way Lady MacNeal did when she was talking to particularly stupid people, ¡°If you¡¯d like, I can retreat back to the sewers and you can activate this trap. I believe you would all be incinerated,¡± she was pleased that she could recount that word, she had heard it used before and liked the way it felt on her tongue, ¡°excepting of course, Master Dravan, who I expect could shield himself or something of the like.¡±

    Lord Farcical whistled softly. ¡°That is quite the expensive trap to put in.¡± He surveyed the area Cat had mentioned, ¡°What if a rat triggered it? Resetting that many incineration traps¡­ someone has quite the benefactor.¡±

    Cat shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯ve needed to actually.¡± She nodded to Dravan, ¡°I¡¯ve been down here before and never seen anything like this; is it possible that someone magicked the area?¡±

    Dravan nodded, as Cat returned to disarming the trap, ¡°Indeed, although that wouldn¡¯t change the fact that they have wealthy benefactors. Having a few mages to enchant this area so that no one noticed it would be expensive, but it would also be more effective than simply killing everyone who entered.¡±

    Lord Longfellow was still pale after learning that he was nearly burned alive. ¡°Should we get the police? Certainly, they are better equipped for this?¡±

    Professor Omar nodded vigorously, ¡°I absolutely agree.¡±

    Dravan snorted, ¡°Gentlemen, no one is better equipped than I.¡±

    When Cat began moving forward again, her eyes searching for traps, Dravan was the first to step out after her. Mr. Taurus, who knew his place was not to speak with the nobility had kept his mouth shut during this discussion. He was finding that he was unimpressed with the courage of these wealthy fops. Even Lord Farcical seemed to be behaving more cowardly than he expected.

    Mr. Taurus knew Lord Farcical from before Lord MacNeal¡¯s death, so he knew the man wasn¡¯t a coward. Is he playing at something for the sake of the other lords? It was possible. Mr. Taurus knew he didn¡¯t understand all the games that the nobility played. He tried, of course, to get a better understanding, but he just wasn¡¯t used to all the intrigue. He was much more a man of the sword, or fist as the case may be. But Mr. Taurus knew that his lack was a danger to Lady MacNeal, so he tried to correct it.

    Cat paused when she began to hear faint voices, but she couldn¡¯t quite make out the words with the people behind her talking. She gestured for the group to stop again. ¡°Please, wait here. I need to check ahead for traps and such.¡± Once she was certain they would stay put, she crept around a corner and crawled ahead. She heard Dravan exclaim, ¡°Anya! This is no time for you tittupic[2]</a>attitude!¡± and then she was around the corner. It was as quite as if they had never been.

    Cat found multiple stone doors with carvings that reminded her of the artifacts at the Pickerings. She checked them, most had a simple trap on them that would most likely inject a poison or toxin into the hand of the opener. She almost disarmed one before a thought arose to her mind, Every trap I disarm is time I¡¯m trusting self important nobles to wait. She sighed internally, I¡¯ll have to come back later and search the place. There was no telling what traps could be placed on the other side of the doors, she didn¡¯t have time to be as careful as she needed.

    After the hall of doors, she came to a large open room. Iron braziers were lit and sweet smells rose from them. Baskets hung suspended from the towering ceiling, the slithering hisses that came from the baskets echoed in the cavern. I didn¡¯t realize we descended¡­ She looked at how high the room was, trying to determine far down they were. At least two¡­ no, three stories... She blanched. So far down? We need to be on the lookout for ghouls. Maybe I won¡¯t come back here. It was uncommon to see ghouls on the topmost layer of sewer tunnels, but obviously they came up to the ¡°surface¡± of the sewer system. Every level they descended made it more likely to run into the voracious creatures.

    At the far end of the room, there was a door much like the ones she had already passed except that instead of sandstone, this was gold. Most likely gilt. That¡¯s an awful lot of gold in one spot.

    Two voices drifted out to her, ¡°yes, of course I made sure to lose them.¡±

    ¡°Excellent.¡± There were some muffled sounds, as if they were walking together among rooms and hadn¡¯t settled yet.

    This was a much deeper voice, ¡°¡­boy tracking?¡±

    ¡°¡­cobras sorted out that problem.¡± The words were pronounced with a distinct laughing hiss.

    Not bloodly likely. Cat thought to herself as she crept forward. As she passed through the room, she noted how the baskets hung. That it would only take a sword stroke to release them. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll use them. Tipping one of the braziers over was much more likely, even though it would be more time intensive for her small body.

    A throaty chuckle sounded.

    ¡°Good.¡± A third voice said, ¡°Now we must await the high priest. As soon as he can step away from his engagement, we shall begin the ritual to resurrect our leader.¡± The sounds of their movements were coming toward the door.

    Cat crept back to the group.

    ¡°Any traps lad?¡± Lord Longfellow asked. Whatever had occurred while she was away, it seemed to have given him confidence. He stood straighter and his eyes seemed clearer.

    Cat shook her head, ¡°I¡¯ve sorted all them. But it sounds like the snake bloke has a few friends.¡±

    Professor Omar asked, ¡°Oh? Did they say who these fellows were?¡±

    Cat looked at the man quizzically; I didn¡¯t say they weren¡¯t all there¡­ ¡°I didn¡¯t get eyes on them, no. So I¡¯m not certain of their look.¡±

    ¡°Pity.¡± The professor of Egyptology said, his voice indicating anything but.

    Mr. Taurus raised an eyebrow.

    Lord Farcical asked, ¡°Did you get a count on them, lad?¡±

    I think I prefer Lord Farcical when he is acting like he did this morning. Gathering information and such, rather than when he¡¯s trying to be a follower and a fop. She shook her head, ¡°No, my lord, I heard three voices. But what with that snakeman being so large¡­ I couldn¡¯t hear much other than him moving on the ground. Excepting, of course, I did hear very heavy steps. But I don¡¯t know what they were.¡±

    Mr. Taurus wished the nobles had left things to him and Dravan. Course, Master Dravan is a lord¡­ but he¡¯s our lord and he doesn¡¯t mind you speaking, assuming you ain¡¯t stupid. He cleared his throat, ¡°Pardon me, Master Dravan, but footsteps that heavy, could they be an ogre? It¡¯s obviously not a minotaur, after all, my hooves are clopping on the stone. Cat would have heard a sharp sound.¡±

    Dravan nodded.

    ¡°An ogre!¡± Professor Omar exclaimed. ¡°That sounds rather dangerous!¡± His voice was rising along with his color.

    Lord Longfellow had paled at the word ¡°ogre¡±, but had been able to keep his composure. ¡°My dear man,¡± he said addressing the professor, ¡°keep your voice down. We don¡¯t want them to overhear us.¡±

    Mr. Taurus and Cat winced internally. They had thought that was already a forgone conclusion.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Dravan smiled slyly, ¡°That¡¯s not really a concern, I heard the absurd racket we¡± he clearly meant ¡°you¡±, his attempt at being polite only made the other men blush with shame, ¡°were making in the sewer portion and so cast an enchantment to dampen our sounds once you got some distance away.¡± Dravan noted which one of the frightened men was relieved and which only grew more concerned.

    ¡°That explains why I couldn¡¯t hear much from behind me.¡± Cat¡¯s brow furrowed. That man is a genius. How does he think to care for so much? She turned back toward their enemies; I hope I can become as skilled as he is.

    Dravan waved his hand, ¡°Please, gentlemen, let¡¯s follow young Cat here to our destination so we can confront these brigands.¡±

    Cat led them down the sandstone hall. She warned them of the traps then ignored the doors that led off to the sides. When she led them into the large chamber, a seven foot tall ogre was handling one of the hanging baskets. The dusky skinned ogre was wearing a white shendyt[3]</a>that appeared to have gold trim. The snakeman, who was slithering into the room from the back, was wearing the headdress stolen from the Pickerings. Two humans, with swarthy skin and ebony hair, also in shendyt though theirs were unadorned, carried pots filled with incense. There were two burlap sacks by the back door. Both were overflowing with Egyptian relics: bracelets, goblets, scarabs, etc.

    The ogre noticed them first, ¡°Hey!¡± He grabbed the basket and hurled the contents toward the lords, while shouting over his shoulder. ¡°I thought you lost them!¡±

    The serpentman cursed, pointed a finger and hissed something. The snakes, which had been sailing through the air like inert ropes, suddenly began to twist with purpose. One even twisted itself so that it could spit venom at Dravan.

    Dravan flicked his wrist and the venom flew into the eyes of one of the humans. The man screamed a terrible sound and began to claw at his eyes. He fell to his knees, blood and pus streaming through his fingers.

    Dravan waved his left hand and the snakes were blown back toward the ogre. The immediate danger to himself passed, he began to wave his fingers and chant in earnest. Blue, red and purple sparks danced off his fingers. No one noticed he hadn¡¯t cut himself, nor was anyone adept enough at magic to know that the spell he was casting was pulling much more power than it normally should. Exponentially more power.

    The ogre charged at Dravan, trying to interrupt his casting, but Mr. Taurus returned the charge. For a moment it seemed he had forgotten his horns were cut and capped, at the last moment he pulled a knife and attempted to gut the ogre. The ogre must have seen the glint of the blade from the flickering braziers, because he jumped back with a startled curse.

    While the two toughs grappled and sliced at one another, the serpentman shouted hisses; he was clearly directing the cobras in their attacks. Cat took one look at the snakes and backed up.

    Nope. She looked around the room, remembering the braziers. She snuck around the combat and climbed up the scaffolding. Once she was up, she began to kick at it, trying to knock it lose from its anchorage.

    The second human hesitated for a moment, as if he didn¡¯t trust the serpentman to protect him from the cobras, before beginning to wade through the snakes to get at the nobles. Lord Farcical stepped forward to intercept the human, but jumped back again when a cobra struck at him. He shifted his pistol to his left hand and shot the head off one of the serpents.

    The serpentman pulled a dagger and threw it at Dravan, attempting again to interrupt his casting, but the beastman hadn¡¯t counted on Lord Farcical¡¯s experience. He snatched it out of the air and returned it. The snakeman was surprised by its return and only was able to deflect it away from his face into one of his arms.

    ¡°I have no time for this! Handle it!¡± The serpent, cradling his arm, not bothering to remove the dagger, wrapped his tail around the sarcophagus and pulled it through a door at the end of the great hall.

    The professor began to have a panic attack. He was screaming and retreating from the cobras. His words were unintelligible to anyone there. Except of course, Anya, who recognized his screams were in the Egyptian language, not Arabic, but Ancient Egyptian. It took her a moment to process, because although she knew all the characters in the pictorial language, she hadn¡¯t had many opportunities to hear it spoken. Her memory was eidetic, she could recall clearly anything seen, but that didn¡¯t mean she could always comprehend what she heard.

    She couldn¡¯t understand why he would be yelling, ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me I am one of you.¡± However, with the snakes approaching, she began to fire at the snakes, hoping to kill one like Lord Farcical. Unfortunately, none of her shots connected with anything other than stone.

    The professor stumbled backward, knocking into Dravan. The sparks around his hands fizzled for a moment as he shoved Professor Omar off of himself. The lights sprayed out wildly, burning everything they came into contact with. Fortunately, they landed harmlessly on the stone or profitably on the snakes and blinded man. He was sprawled on the floor, his hands fallen away from his face revealing his retrobulbar[4]</a>. The blind man had stopped screaming or moving and though his shendyt caught fire, he made no move to put it out. The stink of burning flesh and hair rose from his body.

    Once the flames caught on organic matter they seemed impervious to the laws of science. The multicolored fire burned all the flesh until it hit the stone, at which point it snuffed out. It consumed the matter quickly, in the span of time it took Mr. Taurus to block a punch, everything the sparks had touched were gone.

    ¡°You fool!¡± Dravan yelled, ¡°You could have killed us all!¡±

    Cat finished kicking over the brazier onto the last human, who shrieked and began trying to brush embers off himself. Anya aimed and fired her pistol at the burning man. But her hands were shaking so much; she struck the ogre in the chest instead. The ogre looked down at the blood bubbling out of his chest, stunned. Mr. Taurus wasn¡¯t taking any chances; he made a horizontal cut across the ogre¡¯s gut, spilling the cult member¡¯s guts out onto the floor. It was as close to a kill strike as he could get, given the size difference.

    The ogre tried to catch his organs, but they were slick and slipped through his fingers. The giant collapsed onto his knees before falling to his side. Mr. Taurus felt bad for the man; he knew that a belly wound was a terrible way to die. He moved to the ogre¡¯s head and slit his throat.

    Lord Longfellow pulled a sword from his cane and rested the tip against the human¡¯s throat. ¡°Your friends are dead, surrender.¡±

    The man¡¯s face was badly burned, but with angry, hard eyes he looked at the lord. ¡°I serve only my master, the god Apophis.¡± He threw himself onto the blade Lord Longfellow had pressed against him. The blade slashed his carotid artery and blood spurted forward, spraying the lord¡¯s fine clothes.

    Longfellow pulled his sword back in horror. ¡°I¡­ I¡­ I tried to¡­¡±

    Farcical patted his shoulder, ¡°You offered him surrender and he didn¡¯t take it. There is no shame on your blade.¡± I¡¯m glad his first comment wasn¡¯t about his clothes. Lord Farcical had known many nobles who would be more concerned about their clothes than a man¡¯s death.

    Cat pushed her way through the heavy door at the end. It looked like a fairly sparse, priest¡¯s room. There was a bed, big enough for the snakeman and the beginning of a tunnel. She poked her head into it, but it had been collapsed. I think I could fit. But as she thought about the possibility of cobras and asps waiting for her in the cramped spaces she decided that it was probably too tight for her after all. After a look around the room, she found a satchel that had fallen under the bed. She stuffed it into her clothes before exiting the room.

    ¡°The bloke¡¯s escaped through a tunnel. It¡¯s fallen in now, too small for anyone to sneak through.¡± Cat gestured to the sacks by the door, ¡°These look like most of the trinkets from the Pickerings.¡±

    ¡°Excepting the headdress and the sarcophagus, I believe you are correct, lad.¡± Lord Farcical picked up the sacks and then straightened, ¡°Well, lads. It was a good run of things. Let¡¯s return to the Pickerings and make our report.¡±

    Dravan set his hand on Cat¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Search the rooms.¡± He handed her a vial, ¡°If you are bitten by anything or pricked, drink this and it will counter any poison. When you are finished, come to me with your findings. I except I will be at my sister¡¯s house for the next day.¡±

    She nodded before disappearing to do his bidding. The rest returned to the surface. Their clothes were fouled. Every stitch would have to be thrown away, down to their pants.

    <hr />

    [1]</a>Rough with stiff hair or bristles

    [2]</a>To frolic or kick up one¡¯s heels

    [3]</a>A kilt-like garment worn in ancient Egypt. It was made of cloth and was worn around the waist, typically extending to above the knees.

    [4]</a>The space behind the eyeball

 B#1 - C#17

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Seventeenth or A Thorough Search of the Sewers and what was Found There

    Cat pocketed the potion from Dravan. It was certainly her goal not to drink it. Firstly, because if she needed to drink it then she was almost dead, something she had become far too familiar with to over the course of the day. Villainous servants, cobras, ghouls¡­ the payoff had better be worth it. She wasn¡¯t convinced it was.

    The nobles retreated through the passage they had entered carrying the two bags of stolen goods. It wasn¡¯t everything that had been stolen from the Pickering¡¯s house, the headdress had gone through the hole with the serpentman and the sarcophagus, but it was the bulk of the goods. It was just as well, she wasn¡¯t interested in advertising her skills in front of the toffs. When she could no longer hear their inane prattle, she turned to the first door in the hallway. How much money would be worth risking my life? She took out a set of beat up, worn down picks and began the dual task of disarming a trap and unlocking a door.

    A curious warmth radiated from the door. The air of the sewer, in general, was warm in comparison to the air of London. Dravan, or any learned man, would have been able to tell Cat that the warmth came from tiny organisms breaking down typically dead, or to be more precise ¡°mostly¡± dead, things and the organic refuse which coated the walls and floated in the channel and rendering them into a more basic form the byproduct of which was heat. Then they would have launched into a more complete description that Cat would have tuned out. All Cat needed to remember was that rot made things warm. It¡¯s how she knew when wounds went bad too.

    This door however, was warmer still. Not hot though. Just warm. She noted the oddity, but didn¡¯t let it interfere with her work. Doors don¡¯t pick themselves.

    Lord Farcical gave me two pounds today, she thought fiddling with the lock. That was more money than she had ever seen in her life, let alone held. It was so much; she couldn¡¯t think how to spend it. Get better picks, first off. Her picks were cast offs that she had found in the sewers. It didn¡¯t matter how much she cared for them, they had been used and abused before they had come to her hand.

    With a faint click, the last tumbler fell into place. Gingerly, she twisted the handle and pushed it in. As the door opened, a chorus of a thousand hisses reached her. She blanched, tremellose[1]</a> and scrambled to grab the door, but she could no longer reach the handle. The door had opened over a pit. Fearfully, she looked over the edge and saw¡­ darkness. The pit was deep, so deep that there was nothing but shadows and the echo of serpents slithering over one another.

    ¡°Bloody hell.¡± She cursed backing up when she realized she couldn¡¯t close the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be a nick ninny[2]</a> before I¡¯ll go there again.¡±

    Cat had seen enough of reptiles of all kinds for a long while. Well, except for that pretty lizard that found George. But she was much more agreeable than these snakes! The heat she had felt was coming from the room; something was keeping the area warm. However, the longer the door was open the more the room equalized with the hall. Soon enough, the hissing sounds quieted.

    For a moment, Cat considered trying to peek inside or somehow hook the door closed, but after the briefest of consideration she gave up on that notion. The snakes didn¡¯t seem to be able to get out and that was good enough for her. It did creep her out to turn her back to the door though.

    She knew that because the next room was across from the snake pit. A shiver rolled up her body when she heard the serpents shift. She concentrated on the door in front of her and pushed it open.

    Torches flared into life as the door swung open. A single metal table stood in the center of the room. Cat stepped into the room hesitantly. The naked body of adult woman had been carefully arranged on the table. Symbols that swam and twisted in her sight had been carved onto the woman. Enough blood had flowed from them for Cat to know the woman had been alive when she had been carved up.

    Cat backed out of the room. Magic wasn¡¯t something she wanted to interfere with. Not demon magic especially. She knew enough from Dravan to know that if a caster wasn¡¯t using his own blood, he was using someone else¡¯s. That¡¯s an awful lot of pain they took out of that poor girl. She didn¡¯t finish checking the room before she closed the door. Dravan could deal with that mess.

    The other doors led to a storage room; which held primarily foodstuffs which she hoped to come back and loot at her convenience, two empty chambers meant for ritual slaughtering, and a long room with many beds. The beds had clean linen sheets and smelled of exotic, but pleasant, spices. Twice in one day that I wished I had a better head for letters and figures. I should really learn. It was an unpleasant thought.

    She checked their things, but there was nothing of interest. Just changes of clothes and one or two pouches of coins. She pocketed the purses and left.

    Finally, she came back to the large chamber with the iron braziers and woven baskets. A few baskets still hung suspended and hissed unpleasantly. There was enough light from the flames of the braziers for Cat to be able to search the room thoroughly. A few trinkets had escaped the sacks and rolled away. She pocketed them.

    In her search, she noticed a stone slab that seemed loose. After many long minutes spent trying to move it, she leaned against the wall only to have a brick collapse inward. A grating sound followed and the questionable stone slab slid backward, revealing an oubliette. The light of the room stretched down into the hole.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Three women and a young boy scurried away from the light. The sound of heavy sobs reached Cat. ¡°Oi!¡± Cat called down, ¡°Yous prisoners?¡±

    One of the women stepped into the light, ¡°You don¡¯t talk like one of those dark foreigners. Are you British?¡±

    ¡°Is the queen British?¡± Cat replied snarkily.

    ¡°Be a good lad and let a rope down before those heathens come back for us.¡±

    Cat looked around the room, ¡°Can¡¯t do that, I¡¯ma fraid. There¡¯s no ropes round and I¡¯m not big enough to haul you up if¡¯n there was. But, good news, me and me mates killed the blokes so I¡¯ll fetch some bobbers and we¡¯ll get you out right quick.¡±

    The exclamations and lamentations were heartbreaking, but there was nothing Cat could do. She honestly couldn¡¯t help them escape. She had neither had the rope nor strength to get them out.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a jiff.¡± She almost left the pit open, but then she considered the snakes and wondered if maybe there were more that they hadn¡¯t killed. We missed the serpentman and their head priest¡­ it could be bad to let ¡®em know we found their sacrifices. She slid the stone back into place and headed out of the sewers to Lady MacNeal¡¯s. Dravan said that¡¯s where he would be and the lady would call the coppers. Dravan would probably forget to send the rescue.

    She didn¡¯t stop by the Pickering¡¯s house, but instead took the sewers to a drain she knew was closest to the lady¡¯s house. She had been running through the sewers long enough to know that she would be more suspicious running through the noble¡¯s lands covered in uliginous[3]</a> things than popping out at the right moment. Not to mention that the bobbers would be especially vigilant and irritating because of the theft, which meant that they would pick up anyone who looked out of place.

    Cat crept out of the sewer drain. Her hair was matted and filthy, her clothes were wet with things she didn¡¯t want to think too closely on. I¡¯m going to be stuffed in a bath before I can even give a report.

    Cat walked through the door to the kitchen, bracing herself for a cleaning. She was not disappointed.

    ¡°What¡± Cook began, ¡°in the name of the Divine¡¯s good hand is that stench.¡±

    Cat shifted nervously and cleared her throat, ¡°That would be me, ma¡¯m. The lady had me track some fellows that snuck through the sewers.¡±

    Cook¡¯s mouth opened and closed. White fury paled even her lips. ¡°And you brought that stink into my kitchen? Without even trying to wash any of it off?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ ah¡­ Lord Dravan¡­ he asked me to come¡­¡± But she knew she couldn¡¯t save herself. There was no excuse good enough to foul Cook¡¯s kitchen.

    ¡°Mary!¡± Cook shouted. ¡°Master Dravan and Lady MacNeal are not yet here. You have time to be made presentable.¡±

    Mary appeared as if she had been just around the corner. ¡°Yes, Cook?¡± Wary eyes took in Cat¡¯s appearance. Mary¡¯s nose wrinkled in distaste.

    ¡°Cat is not seeing her ladyship looking or smelling like that. Clean him, we¡¯ll burn the clothes.¡±

    Cat squeaked. ¡°Wait! Master Dravan asked me to bring him some things! You can¡¯t burn all me clothes!¡±

    Cook ignored Cat, ¡°Tend to it.¡±

    Mary grimaced, took Cat by the arm, doing her best to touch Cat the least amount possible, and hauled her off to be bathed.

    When Cat emerged from her second bath of the day, she was pink as a new born and felt like she had lost a layer of skin. It was likely that she had. Mary had scrubbed her hard. The water had been filled and drained five times before it was no longer a fetid brown. Mary would have kept at it, however, except that they were summoned.

    ¡°You still reek, but I suppose you¡¯ll do.¡±

    Based on the way she was looking at Cat, Cat knew that she disagreed. ¡°I really should attend them¡­¡± Cat whimpered, trying to get away.

    Mary let her.

    Cat tripped over her feet escaping into the drawing room where Lady MacNeal, Master Dravan and Lord Farcical were addressing the night¡¯s events. Mr. Taurus was standing at attention in the corner of the room, ready to serve or add information. Dravan must have magicked their dirt away¡­ Cat thought glumly. They had all changed their clothes, but had not been subjected to the thorough cleaning Cat had. Yet, they appeared to be clean and coifed.

    ¡°Ah, Cat.¡± Dravan said when Cat entered the room, ¡°What did you find for me?¡±

    Cat removed the trinkets she had found, while explaining about the rooms and the prisoners.

    ¡°What kind of marks were carved on the woman?¡± Dravan asked standing.

    ¡°Uh¡­ twisty ones. They seemed to be slippery and I couldn¡¯t quite focus on them.¡± She said apologetically.

    Dravan cursed. ¡°Sorry, Adeline. But this is bad. Someone is at the very least consorting with demons, though they never stop there. If they haven¡¯t summoned one, they will be soon. I¡¯ll need to report this to the Academy.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Dravan. Thank you for coming when I asked.¡±

    He nodded.

    Cat stopped him, ¡°You need to get the prisoners.¡±

    ¡°Of course, someone needs to get them.¡± His eyes slid to Lord Farcical.

    ¡°But Master Dravan, they¡¯ve seen some of the magick that has happened. Couldn¡¯t they be of use to you?¡± Something terrible occurred to her, ¡°What if they¡¯ve been ensorcelled?¡±

    Dravan swore again. ¡°Yes, damn. John, if you wouldn¡¯t mind coming with me back into the sewer? I¡¯ll need to leave things with you after we pull the poor waifs out of that hole.¡± No one was convinced that he cared about the trapped people. Dravan cared deeply for those he cared about. The survivors weren¡¯t on his list. ¡°Mr. Taurus, retrieve the police and bring some rope with you.¡±

    Mr. Taurus bowed and left. He was once again in clean livery and would be recognized as a footman of Lady MacNeal. The bobbers would listen to him. Master Dravan and Lord Farcical followed after him.

    Once it was just Cat and Lady Adeline, the lady began her own line of questions. Cat recounted her every move after she arrived at the Pickering¡¯s house. When Cat talked about the battle and its aftermaths she remembered. ¡°Oh! Lady! I forgot. When I followed the serpentman, I went into what I assumed was either his or the ogre¡¯s rooms. I found a satchel. There was¡­ there were¡­ letters or papers or such inside.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    Cat pulled the satchel out and handed it over. ¡°I didn¡¯t read it, or look past seeing there were markings on it.¡±

    Adeline nodded absentmindedly. She pulled out the papers and began leafing through them, scanning them briefly. From one moment to the next she froze and all the color drained from her. Her hand began shaking and she sent the papers down carefully.

    ¡°What is it lady?¡± Cat moved to her side.

    ¡°My¡­ my¡­ son.¡± Lady Adeline whispered, choking on the word ¡°son¡±. ¡°I always thought¡­ but this is confirmation that he and Edward were murdered.¡±

    [1]</a> Shaking like jelly

    [2]</a> A simpleton

    [3]</a> Growing in muddy, oozy, or swampy places

 The Case of the Snow Woman - A Winter Story

    The landscape of Japan looked picturesque to Lady Josephine MacNeal. It reminded her of the prints she had seen of Mount Fuji. The snow capped mountain dominated the sky to the east. The sun, which appeared pathetically small in comparison, hung low in the winter sky behind her. Her shadowy figure stretched far out ahead of her. It blurred and disappeared as a cloud, heavy with snow, passed in front of the sun. They would need to set up camp soon. Gently, she pulled her nenneko[1]</a> closer, savoring the warmth it held. Fat flakes of snow swirled down from the clouds before alighting onto the coat of Hoshi Akari, her black mare.

    It was a true adventure to be traveling around Japan, a country that had fought so long to hide themselves from Western influence. She wished her brother, Lord Edward MacNeal, could be with her. Of course, if he hadn¡¯t angered whomever and been murdered I wouldn¡¯t be in this beautiful country. A slow, sad smile twitched at her mouth. Well, it would have taken me longer to get here any rate.

    Lady Josephine tucked a strand of ebony hair behind an ear, but the snapping wind quickly freed it. She had been raised in India and had only been to London to attend her brother¡¯s wedding to Lady Adeline Cersideon. She hadn¡¯t even been to her native country of Scotland. So it was no wonder that her clothes, which were designed to weather the suffocating heat of India, had been so insubstantial in this foreign land once winter set in. It had been an absolute blessing that her trunk of clothes had been accidently destroyed. She never would have considered wearing Japanese clothing if it hadn¡¯t.

    After adopting the style of dress of the natives, she had found her interaction to be much more cordial and less frigid than when she was wearing her British clothing. I will have to try this when dealing with other peoples. Josephine thought, fingering the silk of her sleeve. She hadn¡¯t worn foreign clothes since her mother caught her dressing up in Neelam¡¯s sari. Her mother had not only been furious, but also ashamed. The incident had been so terrible; she had never considered repeating it, even after her mother had died.

    Underneath the nenneko, Lady Josephine was dressed in the heavy, fur trimmed, red silk kimono with the white cranes that she had been given. The obi[2]</a> itself weighed twice as much as the kimono, and the kimono out weighed her usual outfit by a significant margin. With a wry smile she thought, I¡¯m going to have to stop saving maiden¡¯s lives or someone will try to give me a bride instead of a kimono. It was, apparently, something that could happen if she indebted a lord deeply enough. According to her guide, Asai Ken¡¯ichi, if she preformed a heroic enough act they would accord her the appropriate reward, even if the reward was a wife.

    As her party approached the crossroads, a gnawing anxiety clutched her gut. She felt an intense pressure to go down the left fork. She turned to Asai Ken¡¯ichi, who rode at her right hand, and asked, ¡°Where does that left branch lead?¡±

    The Japanese man lifted his eyes to the road she gestured to, ¡°Ah, my lady, that road leads to nothing but tragedy. There is nothing down that road.¡±

    Neelam, Lady Josephine¡¯s Indian lady¡¯s maid, rolled her eyes. She was very familiar with that tone of voice; it was at once patronizing and reverent. ¡®Don¡¯t worry your delicate feminine head.¡¯ Yet, it also communicated, ¡®Your servant is not worthy of answering your question.¡¯ Neelam adjusted her grip on the reins. Memsahib[3]</a> isn¡¯t going to listen.

    Lady Josephine pulled Hoshi Akari to a stop. ¡°I must go that way, Asai-kun.¡± He¡¯s probably feeling frustrated that I want to go away from Kyoto. She frowned, her unease growing stronger. If I didn¡¯t feel it so strongly¡­ ¡°I must go this way; my gut is telling me it is important.¡± She kneed her horse, who took a cautious step forward.

    Neelam turned her horse and followed her memsahib. Whatever was down that road would be interesting. She lifted a hand to her panther muzzle, times like this, she was glad she was more beast than woman. It was almost certain memsahib was leading them into danger. Her blue eyes gleamed in the dying light. It was not often that she could hunt the way the gods had intended.

    As soon as she mentioned the sense in her gut, Asai Ken¡¯ichi turned in his saddle and began barking orders in Japanese. The wagons turned from going down the right fork to going down the left.

    Lady Josephine had expected some grumbles from the wagoniers at the very least, even if the guards were too professional to do so. She heard nothing spoken. She was witnessing a culture difference. The servants considered themselves to be an extension of their lord¡¯s will. It was an honor to serve him and their emperor. It was not their concern why they were bringing this strange British woman to their emperor in Kyoto. If they had needed the information to accomplish their duty, it would have been provided them.

    Asai Ken¡¯ichi had been told that the emperor wanted Lady Josephine to arrive in good spirits. To him, this meant that if she wanted to take a detour down the left path, he would accommodate her. Anyway, Japanese lore put a great deal of trust in gut feelings.

    However, neither Lady Josephine nor Neelam had any time to consider the implications of this. Out from the trees on either side bandits, or at the very least, men who did not wear the emblem of their lord on their haori[4]</a>, sprang forth screaming in Japanese, ¡°Death to foreigners!¡± and ¡°Cleanse the white devil from our lands!¡±.

    Neelam ushered her horse forward so she could protect her memsahib. Her panther maw opened in a hiss and claws sprang from her fingers. Her horse, already skittish with carrying a panther beastwoman, balked. The horse¡¯s eyes rolled and it screamed.

    Lady Josephine stretched out a soothing hand. Her family had a knack for dealing with animals; it was partially how her family had risen to prominence in Scotland. Neelam regained control of her mount with a smooth touch of her knees; the horse now seemed to be ashamed at its earlier fright. Asai Ken¡¯ichi and the guards circled them.

    The pull to charge down the left fork grew inside Lady Josephine. Something terrible would happen if she didn¡¯t go. She shouted to her lady-in-waiting, ¡°Neelam, we must go!¡±

    Neelam nodded her feline head, ears flicking in assent, ¡°When there is an opening, we will go, not before. You will be of no help if you die getting there.¡±

    Josephine begrudgingly acknowledged that Neelam was right. It was hard though. Even with blades clanging and the screams of men and horses dying around her, the pull to charge down that path was becoming insurmountable. I don¡¯t have time for this. She thought.

    She had learned a long time ago, that, as the saying goes, ¡°The sharpest knife is unseen.¡± As a lady and a foreigner, it paid to keep secrets about what she could and could not do. Her hands slipped out of her kimono. The left began to move in a series of subtle gestures, resulting the bandits¡¯ armor stiffening before it began to shrink. The shriveling armor constricted the attackers¡¯ movements, allowing Asai¡¯s men to regain the upper hand.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her right hand held a heavy pistol. Usually, shooting from the back of a horse was something that only a person of great skill would want to attempt, especially if that person was shooting at moving targets that were hidden behind allies. Josephine had two things in her favor; the first was that she had been taught how to shoot by her brother¡¯s friend, Lord Farcical. Lord Farcical was a good enough shot that he could shoot the head off a striking cobra. The second thing in her favor was her knack for animals. Thanks to her knack, Hoshi Akari was not startled by the battle raging around him and would stand still for her to aim and fire.

    Abruptly, one of the guards was shoved aside and two bandits rushed through the opening. Lady Josephine shot the first in the chest. The bullets she used were designed to cause maximum destruction to anyone threatening her. Her guns weren¡¯t used to injure, but to kill. The man¡¯s momentum carried him forward, but only as a corpse. A hole the size of a grown man¡¯s fist had appeared in his back.

    Neelam drew and threw a dagger in a smooth motion, taking the second brigand in the throat. His blood spurted across the snow, sizzling in the cold.

    Lady Josephine spurred her horse, ¡°Yes!¡± Hoshi Akari, who resented being sprayed with blood, stomped on the offending corpse as she passed over it.

    Neelam retracted her claws before silently spurring her horse forward after the memsahib. Memsahib would never forgive me if I lost her. It would rend her reputation beyond repair.

    Asai Ken¡¯ichi shouted something to the wagon drivers and their guards before he and the detachment of guards that had encircled Lady Josephine spurred their horses to catch up with their charge. In Japanese he shouted, ¡°Faster you fools! If we lose her the emperor will be furious!¡±

    The dishonor on their clan would be terrible. It would better for them to lose the entire baggage train then to lose their charge. They spurred their horses faster.

    The darkness of night closed in on them, the snow fall became even heavier. No matter how fast their spurred their horses, they seemed to get no closer to Lady Josephine and her beastwoman maid. Their lanterns struggled to illuminate anything, but they could see a sharp white glow emanating from the black woman¡¯s arms.

    Lady Josephine and Neelam rode through the snow. The storm howled around them ingravescent[5]</a>, the darkness closing in around them like sack cloth until Neelam shouted a word in Hindi and two glowing arms appeared from her shoulders. The brilliant light beat back the winter darkness, illuminating the trail so their horses¡¯ steps were more sure and faster.

    A shack appeared ahead of them, just off the road. Lady Josephine and Neelam dismounted. The door of the shack was ajar, but if there was any light or warmth inside, it had long been extinguished.

    Neelam extended sharp talons from her hands; two long, spectral kora[6]</a> blades shone like the sun in her glowing limbs. The blades were two feet long and seemed to sing in the wind. ¡°Memsahib, please stand back and let me search the building.¡± Trusting her memsahib to stay back, she stalked into the dark room.

    The glow of her spectral arms illuminated the single room. A man, one that Neelam only noticed in her periphery, lay in the far corner. A pale woman, whose skin seemed almost translucent, in a white kimono with pale blue snowflakes emblazed on it knelt over a second, older man. She was bending down as if to kiss him with her stark blue lips when the light from Neelam fell on her. The white woman had no feet, however, Neelam couldn¡¯t be certain if they were simply hidden by the kimono.

    She recoiled and stood. ¡°I have no quarrel with your kind, why do you seek to interrupt my feeding?¡±

    Neelam sensed in her fur that she was supposed to recognize the white woman, she did not. ¡°Memsahib was summoned here to stop you. I am her blade.¡±

    The white woman inhaled deeply and Neelam felt her fur stand on end. As the white woman exhaled bitter frost Neelam lashed out quick as a cobra with the twin kora blades. The white woman parried the spectral blades with claws of ice, but she couldn¡¯t dodge the physical claws that Neelam brought to the woman¡¯s belly, rending her.

    The frost had coated Neelam¡¯s coat, but the otherworldly warmth she brought with her melted it in short order.

    The winter demon screamed and turned into snow, blowing herself on a wind that no human could feel out of the hut.

    Fear turned Neelam¡¯s bowels to ice. What if the devil attacks memsahib? The beastwoman sprinted out of the hut. Upon seeing that the icy figure had reappeared and was fleeing into the dark night, she began to give chase.

    ¡°Neelam! Come back!¡± Lady Josephine had turned away from the figure and gone into the hut and discovered the two men.

    ¡°Memsahib, what if she seeks to come back?¡±

    Lady Josephine shook her head, ¡°I doubt she will, but it hardly matters. She is a snow devil. She wasn¡¯t leaving any footprints. You would have lost her trail sooner or later.¡± She pulled back the frost hardened blanket that covered the old man, ¡°What if she had turned into a pile of snow? Or mist? Protect me if she comes back, don¡¯t chase after phantoms.¡±

    Neelam hung her head in shame. She had let her desire to hunt overtake her sense. ¡°Yes, of course, memsahib.¡±

    Lady Josephine laid a hand against the face of the older man. He was cold to the touch, but the snow woman had not been able to finish freezing him or the young man. With difficulty, Lady Josephine was able to rouse the older man. The younger man just lay there with his eyes staring wide.

    ¡°Is he dead, memsahib?¡± Neelam peered at the men curiously.

    ¡°No. It seems that that white woman petrified him so that he would watch the death of his master.¡± She nodded to the old man who was struggling to his feet, ¡°We should build a fire to thaw them out of their stupor.¡±

    Asai Ken¡¯ichi and the guards rushed into the hut, awe gripped his voice, ¡°MacNeal-sama! You chased off a Yuki-onna, a Snow Woman.¡± His eyes alighted to the old man who was brushing frost from the front of his haori. The guide bowed low, saying in Japanese, ¡°Hongo-sama, it is an honor to see you well. I have not seen you since your demonstration on Mount Fuji last summer. I have studied weapons all my life and I had never seen anything move so fast.¡±

    A smile quirked at Hongo-sama¡¯s lips. He inclined his head, ¡°You honor me with your remembrance.¡±

    Asai Ken¡¯ichi introduced Hongo as: ¡°Hongo-sama, the blade master. He is renowned for his skill.¡± And introduced Lady Josephine MacNeal as: ¡°MacNeal-sama. She saved the life of my lord¡¯s daughter. The emperor has sent for her to conduct business.¡±

    Hongo-sama smiled at Lady Josephine before bowing low to the ground, touching his head to the floor of the hut. The young man dropped into the bow smoothly, following his master¡¯s example. Hongo-sama spoke in Japanese, ¡°Let it not be said that we are without honor. A life debt must be paid.¡± He spoke with veneration, ¡°Please accept my son, Hongo Kazuto-kun, into your esteemed service; his blade is sharp and quick. He would gladly trade his life for yours, for the honor of his house and yours.¡±

    Hongo-kun pulled out a katana and presented it to Lady Josephine. Unsure how to accept the blade without offending everyone, she followed her gut instinct. She took the blade in two hands and lifted it up while inclining her head slightly. This seemed to please everyone. Then, following that, to the shock of everyone in the room, excepting of course Neelam, Lady Josephine answered in flawless Japanese, ¡°It will be my honor to take him into my services.¡± She nodded her head graciously, as she had seen some of the lords do. At least I was given a servant instead of a wife. My mother would roll in her grave if I came home with a foreign spouse! She considered for a moment, Or a wife!

    Asai-kun murmured to Neelam in English, ¡°Your mistress is not upset with me for presuming she did not know Japanese, is she?¡±

    Neelam shook her head, ¡°No, she has been practicing very hard at night. She appreciates your continued translation for her since she doesn¡¯t consider herself a master of the language and does not wish to offend.¡±

    Asai-kun breathed a sigh of relief. It was clear to him that the gods and her ancestors were pulling strings so that powerful people would be in her debt. He had no desire to offend someone who had divine favor. ¡°Your mistress will be a powerful force.¡±

    Neelam nodded, ¡°She already is.¡±

    [1]</a> A Japanese, warm, padded jacket with kimono sleeves, used for cold weather wear. It is sometimes called a neneko.

    [2]</a> An eleven foot long sash that was wrapped around the waist, both securing the kimono and functioning like a corset

    [3]</a> The title Indian servants gave to their mistresses

    [4]</a> The outer jacket of a man¡¯s kimono.

    [5]</a> Growing worse or more severe

    [6]</a> Kora swords range in length from 18-28 inches and are sharpened on the inside edge. The tip is weighted and curves forward, flaring out and down. It is useless for thrusting, but delivers crushing blows.

 B#1 - C#18

    Dravan lamented his decision to send his sister¡¯s coachman Mr. Taurus to get the police. Certainly, it had been necessary, but it also meant that they hadn¡¯t had someone to drive them to the sewer opening closest to the secret chamber. Dravan had needed to expend some magic to send up a light so that a cabby would come to his sister¡¯s house. Then he was forced to pay extra to have the cabby wait at the entrance of the sewer. Even with how much he had placed in the man¡¯s hand, Dravan couldn¡¯t be certain the fellow, who was sweating profusely just looking at the sewer hole, would stay till they came back.

    It had been the work of years of practice to be able to draw blood without spilling his top hat off his head. Some of the young lads at the academy sliced the fatty part at the base of their thumbs, but they were fools. Wounding part of the hand meant that the very thing a man used to grasp with was weakened. Youths would argue that they were wounding their left hand, the devil¡¯s hand, so it didn¡¯t really matter. But that itself was also foolish.

    It was true that usually he didn¡¯t need to do any climbing after a casting, but habit was a terribly hard thing to break. If he normally cut his hand, then he would either have to make certain he didn¡¯t, or climb down the filthy sewer ladder with an open wound on his hand. Not to mention the blood he would get on his gloves after putting them back on. No, it was foolish.

    Instead of that option, which seemed no true option at all, Dravan had slit the left sleeve of all his coats and shirts up to the elbow. The problem had been that the cut shirts and coats tended to fray. This had ultimately been solved by one of Adeline¡¯s orphans, an enterprising lad, who upon meeting Dravan had drawn up a design to prevent Dravan from maiming his expensive clothes.

    The left tail coat sleeve had five buttons from wrist to just before the elbow. They were matched to the buttons on the front of his tail coat, so they wouldn¡¯t appear out of place. His white shirt had a similar design, but the buttons were small pearlescent things and unlike most men, his shirt cuffs were attached. They needed to be; otherwise after each spell he would have to reattach them. Ordinarily this would mean his shirts would need to be laundered more often, a terrible expense just to keep them looking white. But the lad had come through again and improved his design. Instead of having detachable cuffs on the left sleeve, he made the left sleeve detachable. This meant that instead of laundering the whole shirt, Dravan could just have multiple left sleeves that could be exchanged and cleansed when convenient.

    It was pure genius. Everyone had been delighted. His mother, a human who had been in her eighties at the time had been overcome with joy. She had thought this was a sign that he was beginning to take his duties as the next Lord Cersideon seriously. It had been a hopeful, if unreasonable, thing to wish. Especially over a shirt sleeve.

    Dravan sighed and adjusted his rust coloured, satin puff tie before tucking it into his double breasted vest. I may not have cared about clothes or particularly about being presentable, but I did love my mother. I¡¯m glad I was able to find a manner of dress she deemed appropriate before she passed.

    Lord Farcical glanced over at the much shorter gnome. ¡°I¡¯m surprised to see you¡¯re nervous. This is hardly more dangerous than our last lark.¡±

    I suppose to him this would be a lark. Dravan shook his head, ¡°Not nervous. Just thinking. Although,¡± he paused, ¡°knowing that these fellows are most certainly summoning demons puts a damper in a man¡¯s step.¡± Not Dravan¡¯s step though. Part of his job at the academy was to deal with practitioners believed to be using demons.

    ¡°Ha!¡± John barked out a laugh, ¡°My good man, after being stationed in India for thirty years, I can tell you honestly and solemnly that I always assume the other fellow is summoning demons!¡±

    Clearly, it was the same for Lord Farcical.

    Mr. Taurus rolled up with the police. He was holding onto the outside of the police wagon. He was dressed in Lady Adeline¡¯s livery like he was a footman, but that was only because he wasn¡¯t functioning as her coachman at the moment. It was highly unorthodox, but he had been hired for his muscle. This was his real work.

    ¡°Lord Cersideon, I have done as requested.¡± Mr. Taurus said hopping off and introducing the police. ¡°This is Inspector Widget, his father works with the academy.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Dravan was familiar with the elder Mr. Widget. They had worked together on projects before.

    There was an assortment of constables with them. Their eyes were clear and sober, which was frankly a surprise to Dravan. He had heard from Sarah about how the lower class hated the constables, and they were often drunk. He himself had been alive and remembered back in 1829 when the first police officer, assigned the number one, had been hired and then stripped of his position four hours later for being drunk on duty. He had hoped things would get more under control as time progressed, but that was slow to happen it seemed.

    The inspector and his constables pulled small cloths out of their pockets and began tying them around their mouths. It was evident the purpose was to protect them from the toxins of the sewer.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother with those.¡± Dravan said unbuttoning his coat sleeve. ¡°The magic on those rags has expired. However, since you are assisting me, I will provide the protection with no charge.¡± He unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, exposing the pale flesh of his arm. He drew a small blade made for this purpose from inside his coat and made a cut. The blood sprang forth eagerly, only to be whisked away by the magic as his spells stole the power from his blood.

    There were so many spells to cast that by the time he was done, his arm had healed enough it was no longer bleeding. The last spell had pulled blood through his exposed dermis[1]</a>, which had been quite painful. With a grimace he began buttoning his clothes. ¡°Now that¡¯s settled. Which one of you fine constables wishes to climb into the sewer first?¡±

    None of London¡¯s finest had ever had the opportunity to have enchantments placed on them before. The men flexed their muscles delighted with how strong they felt. The inspector was wiser. He knew that Dravan hadn¡¯t placed so many enchantments out of his good will. Dravan had done so because if they came across ghouls, always possible, they would need that strength so they wouldn¡¯t die immediately.

    Lord Farcical held out a hand, ¡°Remember lads, this isn¡¯t a lark. Keep your voices hushed if you must speak, but if you open your mouth you had best have a bloody good reason! Our lad found some people being held prisoner in a strange, Egyptian-like place, so this is a rescue mission.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Lord Farcical spoke with the confidence a military commander and a veteran of many campaigns has. His tone stiffened their spines and filled them with the desire to please him. There was no magic in his words. Just practice.

    One of the younger lads stepped forward, ¡°I¡¯ll go down first.¡± He moved with the overeager swagger of youth.

    Lord Farcical glanced at Inspector Widget, returning command to the inspector.

    ¡°Very well, Constable O¡¯Donald. Proceed.¡± Constable O¡¯Donald was clearly an Irish Cockney[2]</a>. His name stated his family¡¯s origin better than a sign around his neck, but he had lost the lilt of his ancestors.

    Constable O¡¯Donald lifted the sewer lid out of the way and then began his decent into the sewer. When he his feet were firmly on the stone of the ledge, he reached into a pocket and drew a flash stick. It was a one of Mr. Widget¡¯s inventions. About the length of a grown man¡¯s forearm, it was a thin cast iron tube that held a mixture of chemicals and powders. When O¡¯Donald broke off the top everyone on the surface held their breath.

    A light flared and O¡¯Donald waved them down. The flash stick was shooting a few sparks, but other than that it was giving off a fairly steady light that illuminated about three meters in every direction.

    The reason everyone had held their breath was that around one percent of the times a flash stick was activated they exploded. Most of the alchemical projects that came out of the academy were like that, but this had better odds than most.

    Half the constables descended, followed by Lord Farcical, Dravan, Inspector Widget and then the rest of the constables, with the exception of one who stayed to guard the entrance. Ghouls rarely came to the surface, but it was night. The constable had his Beaumont-Adams revolver drawn. The gas street lamps illuminated the street, or at the very least they tried to admirably. A thick and seemly unnatural fog was rolling in.

    From the center of the group Dravan directed the party toward the area Cat had led them to earlier. The constables, all silent and stalwart walking on the sewer ledge, exclaimed in surprise when the sewer wall changed to sandstone.

    O¡¯Donald touched the wall hesitantly, ¡°It feels grainy. Sir, I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    Dravan pushed through the stunned constables, ¡°I have. Come on lads, the real interest is up ahead.¡±

    Dravan led them down a hall made of sandstone. He paused at an open door on the left. He poked his head into the room only to be yanked back by Mr. Taurus when they heard a chorus of hisses.

    ¡°Let me handle this, your lordship. Your sister would be rather put out if I let anything happen to you.¡± Mr. Taurus said taking out the length of rope.

    Dravan frowned, ¡°Hmm.¡±

    Mr. Taurus had the rope in his hand like he was a cowboy from America¡¯s west. He swung the rope in a circle once, twice, three times and then threw the rope, drawing it tight around the handle of the door. He drew the door closed in a smooth motion.

    Dravan looked at the minotaur, ¡°The things I don¡¯t know about you.¡±

    Mr. Taurus shrugged, removed the rope from the door and put it away.

    Dravan was about to open the second door, the one Cat had said had a body on a table, when Lord Farcical spoke, ¡°Perhaps we should show these lads to the prisoners before we look into anything else?¡±

    Irritation fluttered across Dravan¡¯s face. ¡°Very well.¡±

    Lord Farcical led the way to the big chamber. ¡°Careful, there may be snakes hiding.¡±

    The police were jumpy, but after a thorough search it appeared the only snakes alive were still hanging in the baskets. One of the men eyed the baskets with distaste, ¡°Inspector, do you¡­ want us to handle them?¡±

    Inspector Widget seemed in no hurry to have untrained men take down a basket filled with poisonous snakes.

    Dravan came to his rescue, ¡°If it is alright with you, I¡¯m certain the academy and I could find ample use for them.¡±

    Inspector Widget considered for a fraction of a second. Lord Cersideon, a member of the House of Lords and one of the academy¡¯s demon hunters, had the rank to make such a request. ¡°Very well, Lord Cersideon, I shall have to make a report of this.¡±

    Dravan nodded, ¡°I¡¯ll have a list of how many snakes and their breeds to you by the end of the week.¡±

    This was more information than the inspector could have hoped to get with his limited resources. His men were being beaten or worse on a regular basis by the poor quarters. It cost money to train and outfit his men. Given the poor conditions and poorer treatment they received, many of the constables were louts who couldn¡¯t maintain any other job. The ones he had with him were the best of the best. He couldn¡¯t bring any others, not when Lord Cersideon was requesting their help.

    While Lord Farcical directed the constables in hoisting the prisoners out of the oubliette with the aid of Mr. Taurus¡¯ rope. The highland minotaur stood guard over Dravan, outside the room per Dravan¡¯s instruction, while he explored the room with the dead body.

    Before entering the room he opened his sleeve and cast a few protection spells on both himself and Mr. Taurus. The room was empty except for a single metal table. Circling it, he concluded that it was most likely a table from a surgery. Not a hacks; it had to be from a surgery with means. ¡°Or a noble.¡± He murmured.

    The table was in the exact center of the room. There was a depression in the floor under the table so that all the blood remained in the center of the room. Had this been a true surgery, there would most likely have been a drain at the base of the depression. However, since this was designed for collecting blood for magic, there was no drain. A thin layer of wasted blood was dry and flaking in the bottom of the depression.

    With cold eyes he looked at the blood and shook his head, ¡°Such a waste.¡± Of course, using another¡¯s blood was horrible, but it seemed to him that spilling blood and then not using it was even worse. It dishonored the sacrifice the other life had made. Even if the sacrifice was forced upon it.

    Before approaching the corpse, Dravan took out a pair of spectacles. The spectacles were ones that he re-enchanted once a month so that he could discern a spell without having to read it. This was very helpful when he was dealing with mages that engaged in demonic magic. They were especially jealous of their achievements and tended to trap things.

    The genesis of a smile struggled at the edges of his lips. I was right. Of course he was right; he had been doing this for a long time.

    ¡°Whoever did this has summoned more than one demon.¡± Dravan said loud enough for Mr. Taurus to hear him.

    Mr. Taurus didn¡¯t look into the room, his voice was casual. He¡¯d seen many things while he was in America. ¡°More than one off the girl or they¡¯ve done this before?¡±

    Dravan circled the corpse, ¡°Both actually. The marks were so clean and precise, only a professional could have made them. However, judging by these markings I would say there are three demon names.¡±

    ¡°They summoned three demons? That¡¯s quite a lot.¡± Mr. Taurus tucked his thumbs into the sides of his vest and arched his back slightly. His fur was standing on end.

    ¡°Hm. No, I wasn¡¯t quite right.¡± The rasp of Dravan¡¯s hand going over the stubble on his chin was audible from the hall.

    ¡°There aren¡¯t three demons?¡± Mr. Taurus said trying to hold back his excitement.

    ¡°No, no. There are. Two new ones they summoned off this corpse and one that they reaffirmed a contract with.¡±

    Mr. Taurus¡¯ ears flicked displaying his anxiety. His voice however remained steady, ¡°Sounds like these blokes will be trouble.¡±

    Dravan nodded slowly, ¡°Yes, this level of sophistication is abnormal in demon summoning. People that resort to it usually lack the patience to have gone through much training, demons being thought to be a short-cut to power,¡±

    Mr. Taurus nodded, that had been his experience with summoners as well.

    ¡°but this is quite precise and eloquently done. In fact, I would venture that whoever did this is one of her majesty¡¯s demon hunters.¡±

    Mr. Taurus stiffened. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± His nose quivered as he swung his head toward the chamber with the police.

    ¡°Hmm¡­?¡± Dravan looked up. ¡°No¡ª¡°

    His word was cut off by the screams echoing off the sandstone walls.

    [1]</a> The epidermis and the dermis make up the skin. The dermis is bottom layer and provides, among other things, elasticity and nourishment to the epidermis.

    [2]</a> Second or Third generation Irish immigrant to London.

 B#1 - C#19

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Nineteenth or A Clue Discovered in Disreputable Circumstances

    Lord Farcical knew the police would not allow him to help. He was a lord and it was not his ¡°place¡± to help with such a mundane thing as lifting survivors out of a pit. However, his honor dictated that he must assist. He also knew that he would garner their respect if he helped. Anyway, he was a Scotsman and not some dandy. He took the lead in tossing the rope down the hole, anchoring it around his waist.

    ¡°Alright lads! Let¡¯s bring ¡®em home!¡± He called, summoning the officers to help with the effort. They had been momentarily stunned by his actions, but readily grabbed hold of the rope.

    The officers were predominately Irish and not used to being addressed by nobility like they were people.

    One by one, each of the survivors grabbed the rope and was heave-hoed out of the pit. The first up was a child, then three women followed. John allowed the police to question the women while he unwrapped the rope from around his waist.

    The lad¡¯s eyes shifted to John¡¯s purse before darting away. John pretended not to notice. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised. I may have just saved him¡­ but I¡¯m also clearly wealthy and he is clearly poor. Studiously, he ignored the lad¡¯s behavior. He shouldn¡¯t try anything, not with the police surrounding us.

    The lad moved closer to John while he was listening to the women recount being kidnapped by the foreigners. They are being cagey about where they were when it happened. Interesting. He felt the lad go for his purse. Lightning quick, John snatched the lad¡¯s arm.

    He looked down at the lad about to scold him, ¡°What the?¡± He could see tattoos peeking out from under the lad¡¯s shirtsleeve. In a quick motion he pulled the lad¡¯s sleeve back revealing strange symbols tattooed into the lad¡¯s arm. The child squirmed trying to get away, but John¡¯s grip was firm. ¡°Did the priests do this to you lad?¡± Despite his firm grip, his voice was gentle.

    ¡°Let go of me!¡± The lad tried to pull away.

    John looked up at the women, ¡°Do you ladies have these markings too?¡±

    One of the women opened her mouth, seemingly about to answer before she collapsed to her knees. A scream ripped from her lips. It pierced the men¡¯s ears, causing many of them to stumble in pain. Their shouts of confusion and pain added to the chaos. The police officer standing next to her grabbed his ears, blood oozed through his fingers.

    Lord Farcical shouted, ¡°Dravan! Dravan we need you!¡± He fell to his knees; his hands clutched his ears, trying to muffle the terrible sound. His efforts were to no avail. The pain was terrible¡­ but he was used to tribulation. With effort he lifted his head and looked at the woman who had screamed.

    The three women and the lad were on their knees in a circle, their hands lifted palm up toward the ceiling. Strange scarlet symbols glowed from under their clothes. John recognized the places that glowed as kill spots where a person would bleed out if struck.

    The runes oozed through their clothes and were held suspended in the air.

    Mr. Taurus and Dravan ran into the chaos. The tell tale clopping of Mr. Taurus¡¯ hooves were completely overpowered by the shrill scream and the chanting.

    Dravan flung out his hand and shouted. His word went out with tangible power. John, Mr. Taurus and Dravan felt a popping sensation in their ears as their piercing scream of the woman was sucked out of them. They could still hear her shrieking, but it no longer was magically affecting them.

    With agony blocked, John heard a pattern in her screams. It had the rise and fall of a language, not random screaming. ¡°What should I do?¡± John shouted, drawing a knife and advancing on the chanters.

    ¡°No! Stay back!¡± Dravan shouted. He yelled another word of power and the protection that he had placed on his people spread to the police officers, who had fainted on the flagstones. It was, however, too late for the man closest to the women. There was a pool of gore soaking into the sandstone.

    Cruor[1]</a> rose off his corpse and joined with the runes in the air. It appeared to be adding power to them. Dravan¡¯s protection seemed to come just in time. Since the magic was prevented from harvesting the energy of the other officers, it turned on the victims it had been etched into. Claret[2]</a> was pulled from every orifice.

    A wicked and twisted face appeared in the homogenous orb. ¡°Dravan¡­¡± It hissed. ¡°Come to irritate me again? You have failed to banish me six times, eager to complete your failure with a seventh try?¡±

    Dravan gritted his teeth; his small gnomish form stared up at the corrupt form, ¡°X¡¯thrhltz. Egyptian artifacts aren¡¯t your usual method of operation.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to do better than your usual level of sophistication if you are going to stop me from resurrecting the high priest of Apep.¡± The face turned, as if it heard its name being called. ¡°Try to stop me if you can.¡± Then the blood orb collapsed in on itself as the voice absorbed the energy from the claret.

    ¡°That was a demon. Wasn¡¯t it?¡± Mr. Taurus scraped his hoof nervously on the sandstone floor.

    Dravan was silent as he looked at the corpses of the people they came to save. He unceremoniously peeled back their clothing to look at the runes. John watched what Dravan was doing carefully. The marks appeared to have been tattooed on them. However, that was no ink John had ever seen used before.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    If it hadn¡¯t been a demon, Dravan would have refuted it. This has become much more dangerous. John smothered an inappropriate smile. He didn¡¯t miss the heat of India, but he did miss the action. He was tired of spending all his time in the club, he wanted to be out searching for his friend¡¯s murderer, but he could hardly do that if he was protecting Lady MacNeal. That was something he had sworn to his best friend when the man was going off into certain death, he couldn¡¯t go back on his word. But she is invested in this and she won¡¯t turn back just because things have become dire; if I don¡¯t aid her, I¡¯ll have to deal with her sneaking around.

    Lady MacNeal, he knew, would protest the very idea of sneaking. She was a perfect lady, fair of countenance and graceful in manner. He gave a mental chuckle, She would say something like, ¡°I don¡¯t sneak. I¡¯m discrete.¡±

    ¡°Dravan,¡± John said, ¡°Mr. Taurus and I don¡¯t know what we should do, what we can do, so that we do not trigger any magical problems.¡±

    Dravan looked up from the bodies he was crouching by, leaned back on his heels, and sighed, ¡°This is really quite bothersome. I was in the middle of very important research, but I see I don¡¯t have much choice. As one of her Majesty¡¯s Demonic Hunters, I¡¯m going to have to take over this investigation.¡±

    Mr. Taurus seemed to have recovered, ¡°Do you believe the demon when it said it was resurrecting the mummy?¡±

    In John¡¯s estimation, the minotaur had not had many run ins with demons. If he had, he would either be more fearful or more calm.

    Dravan nodded, ¡°Someone is resurrecting the mummy, that much is certain, however the demon would not have passed on that information if it wanted the ceremony to be completed. For whatever reason, its own or its master¡¯s, the demon wishes us to stop the resurrection from taking place.¡±

    John shook his head, ¡°So, by preventing a mummy from being brought back to life, we are playing into the hands of a demon? That¡¯s hardly a position we want to be in.¡±

    Mr. Taurus shrugged, ¡°We don¡¯t really have a choice. The lady tasked me with recovering all of the Pickering¡¯s artifacts. Knowing that some wicked foreign people are looking to bring about some sort of apocalypse isn¡¯t going to change her mind.¡±

    A smirk brushed John¡¯s lips before he could smother it. Both he and Mr. Taurus were considered ¡°foreign¡± since they weren¡¯t English, but instead Scots.

    Dravan tapped his chin, ¡°Perhaps I can steal the energy from the ritual and redirect it¡­¡±

    ¡°Shall I carry these lads to the surface?¡± Mr. Taurus asked stretching his neck.

    ¡°We can hardly leave them down here.¡± John walked to the inspector and hefted him over his shoulder into a fireman carry. ¡°I hope he won¡¯t vomit. I like these clothes.¡±

    Dravan sighed again, ¡°This is going to mean multiple trips. We, and by that I mean you two, will have to carry all the officers and the bodies to the surface.¡±

    ¡°I understand the officers, we certainly can¡¯t leave them down here, but why the bodies?¡± Mr. Taurus picked up the nearest man. The Irishman was much bigger than him, so he looked a little silly.

    John looked at Mr. Taurus with surprise, ¡°To inform the families of their deaths of course!¡±

    Dravan shrugged, ¡°I suppose that is important as well, but no. I need the corpses brought to the surface so that tomorrow, after I¡¯ve rested, I can trace the spells that were cast on them back to their originators.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be finishing the task tonight?¡±

    Dravan rolled his eyes, ¡°As much as I would like to finish the task at hand, the reality of the situation is that I am weary from casting protection spells. Without some recovery time, even the most basic of spell could go astray. This,¡± he gestured to the bodies, ¡°is not a basic spell. It is a very challenging spell because I am trying to trace the route of whatever mage that triggered the trap placed in the women and the child, not only that, but I am also trying to find who is controlling the demon that high jacked that spell. The only reason they,¡± he gestured to the unconscious officers, ¡°are not dead is because the demon prevented the full measure of the trap from being activated so that it could use that energy to taunt me.¡± Dravan paused, glaring at John, ¡°So in short, no, I will not be finishing the task tonight.¡±

    John shrugged off the gnome¡¯s glare, ¡°Thinking about all the magic you¡¯ve cast, I¡¯m surprised you¡¯ve done as much as you have. It would have taken four mages in the army to do what you did tonight.¡±

    Dravan adjusted his puff tie. ¡°Well, we hardly send our best mages to India. I¡¯m not surprised your experience is with subpar magicians.¡±

    It was long and arduous work to carry the officers out. Those that had been posted on the outside wanted to help carry their fellows out, but Dravan didn¡¯t have the strength left to cast any protections on them. The only conscious fellows left to do the work were Lord John Farcical and Mr. Taurus.

    By the time a second mage, his clothes rumpled and askew, had been roused and made his way down to the sewer entrance, Mr. Taurus and John were panting in the street having carried all the officers and the corpses out of the sewer.

    Dravan gave the young mage a stern tongue lashing. Not only was the human less skilled than Dravan, he also ranked lower on magical aptitude, and his social standing was far bellow Dravan¡¯s position as Lord Cersideon.

    ¡°You took the position as one of the officers¡¯ mages. You should have been at the station when this was reported, not off gallivanting with your friends.¡±

    The young man, shamefaced with his head hanging, opened his mouth to speak.

    ¡°No, Mr. Brown.¡± Dravan said cutting him off before he could speak, ¡°I read all your assignments and your exit thesis. Do not try to give me excuses and tell me about how you were studying. We both know that is not true.¡± Disdain rang in his voice, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t let you cast even if I still needed you, I can smell the alcohol on your breath.¡± Fury shook his voice, ¡°Thinking you could cast while intoxicated¡­ that is the kind of behavior I would expect from an idiot child or someone who has not completed their courses at the academy.¡±

    From John¡¯s crouched position on the cobblestones, he could see all manner of emotions pass over the young man¡¯s face, ending in an almost baffled resignation. John had expected anger, most men would be angry at being referred to as an ¡°idiot child¡±. But not this man, curious.

    ¡°There is nothing I can do but tender my apology to you and this department.¡±

    Dravan glared at the man before nodding. ¡°Very well, since you are the magician assigned to this case, I expect to see you tomorrow at¡­¡± he pulled out his pocket watch, clicked it open and stared at it doing some calculation, ¡°at ten o¡¯clock. I need to sleep off this fatigue.¡±

    ¡°Where shall I meet you, my lord?¡±

    ¡°Why, at the morgue of course. You are going to assist me in tracing some magic.¡±

    Mr. Brown¡¯s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, ¡°You want me to assist?¡±

    ¡°Did I stutter, boy?¡± Dravan¡¯s condescending tone peeled out.

    ¡°No, my lord.¡± Mr. Brown shook his head fervently, ¡°I shall see you at ten o¡¯clock.¡±

    ¡°Good. Make sure that you do. Also,¡± his last word was clipped with anger, ¡°if you arrive intoxicated, or I hear of you being inebriated on the job again, I will personally block your access to magic.¡±

    John expected the boy to sweat from that threat, but the lad did not. Instead, the young man straightened his spine and nodded. A strike of inspiration burst into John¡¯s mind, He¡¯s never had anyone pay attention to him¡­ and here Dravan, a legend among magicians and magical inventers not only knew him on sight, but also claimed to have insight into the man¡¯s actions based on reading his work. A laugh slipped out in the form of a cough, Dravan has captured Mr. Brown. That man is going to aspire to change Dravan¡¯s opinion of him.

    A coach arrived. Sarah stepped out with the aid of the cabby. She seemed to float over to Dravan, her head up. She had a quiet confidence rather than aggressive arrogance. She pulled a small clockwork bird out of her purse and handed it to Dravan, ¡°I received your message, are you ready to go or do you have more work to do?¡±

    Dravan shook his head, ¡°No, my work is done for the night. However, I must be at the morgue tomorrow morning, ten o¡¯clock.¡±

    Sarah nodded, clearly making a mental note of the time. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure there is a cab ready to take you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, my dear.¡± He said climbing into the cab.

    Sarah looked at John, ¡°Would you like to ride with us?¡±

    John shook his head, ¡°Thank you, but I¡¯ll have Mr. Taurus take me to the club.¡±

    She nodded, ¡°Very well.¡±

    [1]</a> Coagulated blood

    [2]</a> A slang word for blood referencing its similar color to the (purple-ish) red table wine produced in the Bordeaux region of France which was originally a light red or yellow.

 B#1 - C#20

    The Blood Debt Chronicles

    The Case of the Missing Mummy

    Chapter the Twentieth or Adeline''s Correspondence and Codes

    Adeline tapped a fan against her hand thinking about the information Dravan, John, Mr. Taurus and Cat had delivered to her. Cat¡¯s information confirming that her husband had been murdered implied that her son had also been executed. Whoever was behind this attack on the Pickering house was intimately involved with her family¡¯s deaths.

    I need more information. Adeline flicked her fan open and closed. Her face displayed no agitation, appearing ataraxia[1]</a> like a still lake. Adeline¡¯s emotions were more in line with a swan than a lake; like a swan she projected beauty, grace and serenity, but under the surface her emotions were turning. She opened the speaking tube and took a calming breath before speaking, ¡°Mary, I¡¯ll be going to my study. Please bring up all the ledgers.¡±

    ¡°Yes, lady.¡±

    The rest of the staff would be returning tomorrow. Not only did she need to prepare tasks for them, she also needed to finish her usual weekly and monthly agendas.

    She stood up from her divan and left her parlor. It was a typical feminine room, all flowers and lace, redecorated each season to reflect whatever was in vogue. It had to be updated regularly since it was the room where she entertained the wives of dignitaries and magicians. The parlor did not reflect her individuality, but rather her financial and social power.

    The room she adjourned to was different. Her study was on the second floor, off her bedroom and connected to the two story library. Edward¡¯s study, also connected to their bedroom, was connected to the library as well. Dravan would come use Edward¡¯s study whenever he needed information regarding parliament. His stated reason was that there wasn¡¯t enough room on his boat for his research and for government paperwork. While this was clearly true, she couldn¡¯t help but believe there was more to Dravan¡¯s reason than that.

    Adeline pushed the door open revealing a room that was a bewildering hybrid of masculinity and femininity. While the chair behind the desk was designed with hours of sitting in mind, it was also constructed so a woman in corsets and hoops could sit in comfort. There was enough room on the seat that she could perch on the edge and her hoops could fold like an accordion behind her, there was an arm on the right side, but not on the left. This allowed her to sit, if she was wearing a train, by swinging it elegantly to the side so it draped over the edge. The back of the chair, which was purely decorative, had been done in the gothic style.

    The walls were lined with built in bookcases that switched to drawers at about hip level. In the bookcases were books regarding a range of subjects: building construction, health and wellness, texts on human behavior from the powerhouses of the ancient world as well as a bound leather journal with her personal notes, with a few books about education and the heuristic method. The case closest to her seat on the northern wall and within easy reach of her right hand, was lined with out of place penny dreadfuls, books of poetry and bound copies of Dickens.

    A stone fireplace took up half of the southern wall. A fire burned away any chill in the air and a painted metal screen prevented any errant embers from escaping. The screen was painted with flowers by many different artists ranging in skill quite drastically, some of the flowers were painted by hands that had grown up to be artists while others cockled[2]</a>. Other works of art peppered the shelves, some were heavy enough to be used as bookends, others like the delicate standing glass leviathan, or paper origami rose, had space set aside for them. Like the painted screen, the art ranged in skill levels dramatically different.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    The carved mahogany desk was a large, powerful, statement piece; it had been clear until Mary began placing paperwork atop it.

    The stacks of paper were organized, ¡°These are the ledgers from the orphanages, these from the women¡¯s shelters, and these are the updates from the orphans that have been placed in homes around the country.¡± Mary paused here to add, ¡°I¡¯ve organized them based on what codes were given.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mary.¡± Adeline said nodding. All orphanages sought to place children in homes; it was considered healthier for a child to grow up with parents rather than an over crowded home that couldn¡¯t give enough personal attention. However, after placing a child, dear sweet Jane McGregor, only to learn later that the poor child had been abused and murdered, Adeline had vowed that would never happen again. First, she had implemented that all her children had to write monthly letters updating the orphanage they came from on how their new home was. This wasn¡¯t an ultimate solution however, since any abusive parent would read the letter before it was sent out. For this reason she had each child taught a cipher, hence the works of fiction and poetry in her study.

    Each of her orphanages used a different cipher and the cipher that was taught to the children was changed every few years. This was for a few reasons. The main reason of course was for the safety of the children. By using different codes, if one of her orphans grew up to adopt and abuse, they would know there was a code, but not know what the code was, which would hopefully give her time to step in. None of her children had ever done such a thing. The secondary reason was far less insidious. By giving each time frame and orphanage a code she knew how long ago the child had been adopted and from where.

    Of course, the code wasn¡¯t just used to report abuse. It couldn¡¯t be. The children had to use it consistently to keep in practice. That was why she responded to them in code and talked to them about what they were learning, any curiosities they saw, or what interests they were pursuing. Adeline had discovered that while some children¡¯s interests went through them like bad meat, most people knew what their passion was when they were very young.

    After two hours of allocating finances and responding to letters, Adeline found her lids drooping and a headache beginning between her eyes. With a sigh she stretched. Unfortunately that robbery meant that my whole evening was pushed back. I¡¯ll pay for this late night tomorrow. Age had made getting a good night¡¯s sleep a necessity rather than the luxury of youth.

    She rang for Mary.

    Mary arrived promptly, as if she had been waiting on the other side of the door. ¡°Yes, lady?¡±

    Adeline had a stack of letters prepared. ¡°Please have these letters go out with the post tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Yes, lady.¡±

    ¡°The others will be returning tomorrow. What time will you be leaving for the station? You will be spending your time with your sister in Edinburgh?¡±

    She nodded, ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll be leaving after you rise for the day.¡±

    Adeline nodded. She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a sealed letter. There was an old fashioned wax seal on the back, pressed with the Cersideon family crest. ¡°Since you are traveling to Edinburgh, would you mind taking this to the highland estate?¡±

    They both knew Mary couldn¡¯t refuse. But Edinburgh was still a day¡¯s travel away from the highland estate. It would cut into her time with her sister.

    ¡°Of course, lady.¡±

    ¡°I will consider it a personal favor and you will of course be compensated for the time.¡±

    Mary¡¯s eyes widened briefly. ¡°Certainly. It would be my pleasure.¡± She went to the door, her hand on the knob; she turned back, ¡°Would you like me to help you into your night clothes?¡±

    Adeline stood shaking out her skirts so they fell properly, ¡°Yes, I suppose it is past time for me to change.¡±

    Mary set the papers on a low table so she could help Adeline out of her skirts and corset. ¡°Usually you change before doing your nightly paperwork.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I suppose I was distracted tonight.¡± Adeline paused thoughtfully while Mary unlaced her.

    ¡°Will you be waking at the usual time?¡± Mary asked turning down the sheets and putting in the warming stone, ¡°Or will you wish to have a late morning?¡±

    Adeline climbed into the large bed, ¡°No, no, there is much to get done tomorrow. I will be up at the usual time. Thank you and have a blessed night.¡±

    Mary curtsied and left so she could retire. It had been a long night for them both, but Mary had been up for hours before Adeline had risen.

    When the house was finally still, Adeline turned into her pillow and wept.

    [1]</a> Absolute calm and tranquility; complete freedom from anxiety or strain

    [2]</a> This word has many meanings, though in this case it is used to mean ¡°wobble¡±