Journal of an English Lord
20th February 1984
All too soon we arrived at Manchester.
We played out the game – staying aboard until the last possible moment to see if that could draw out anyone or perhaps we might observe someone behaving oddly as they left.
But why would they? If our crown delivery man was merely in the pay of HCM, then his task was complete. If I were him I would depart the scene in an ordinary fashion without lingering.
Of course if it were HCM himself aboard but left the airship in anything but the HCM outfit, then how would we know. All he would have to do to go undetected was act completely normally. I couldn't be completely sure but I would guess that unlike the arch-villains from the penny-dreadfuls HCM would have more that one set of clothes.
As Pevancy had a fair head start on us we decided to try and track down Dr Bennett immediately. I hit on the idea that a man of Bennetts background would likely have socialised with the academic fraternity and I was very pleased to find that JP had a few friends in this area. So without further ado we took a zep-cab to the Greater Manchester University of Industry and Etheric Studies.
JP's contact in fact knew the Doctor well and provided us with a home address.
We located a decent hotel, leaving Lacotte to secure our equipment and keep a look-out for unwanted guests.
Then, having equipped ourselves appropriately we proceeded to the good Doctor's abode.
His front door was open and that got us immediately on our guard. Cautiously we went in, wondering what we would find.
Unsurprisingly the house appeared to have been given a thorough going over, unless Bennett liked to live in complete disarray and chaos.
It was towards the back of the house that we encountered resistance.
There were two of them, and thankfully it was the indomitable Bull who took the brunt of their aggression and unashamedly am unashamedly grateful for that.
His retaliation was swift and final for the two whom attacked us.
We witnessed a third person observing from a building across the rear yard.
I managed to gain entry unobserved but in my enthusiasm I forgot the basics and was revealed by a screamer. Damned noisy little devices. Bloody thing got me shot too! Luckily the mesh armour that Bull had provided did its job.
The gunshot however did bring in the cavalry in the for of Bull and JP with guns blazing.
Not the sort of thing you want when you are trying for discretion, but there was little I could do after the event.
Our third assailant was a woman with a Liverpudlian accent.
She was a hired gun, someone paid to watch the house and kill anyone snooping around.
As is often then case with such people the thought of despicable violence being conducted upon her or more probably a drugged coercion caused her to spill the beans with little actual effort on our behalf.
Her employer had taken Bennett just yesterday. He was being held in the canal district.
So now we had another adversary – Skelton. Yet another local hood who had taken an interest in Bennett's invention.
Brom/Skelton, London/Great Metropolis, Search for blue-prints/search for the real thing.
There was a modus operandi here and I now understood why the London based criminal had been looking for the Prime converter papers.
It seemed obvious now that damned Lord Pevancy liked to get the local thugs to do his running around – no doubt using the same technique he had on me. So, as he dispatched me track down the plans for the converter, he'd sent Brom and his goons to make sure Greywall wasn't hiding anything.
The bastard may well find this to be a mistake. Making threats against the criminal elements is one thing, but threatening a Lord of this Realm is another.
With his lead to the plans failing (in the form of an ingenious ruse I might add) he and his team were in the Metropolis looking for Bennett, or more precisely a prototype converter, and using Skelton to take care of things.
**
Now that we had a better handle on things as they stood right now, we decided to have a real good nose around and see if we couldn't unearth some half decent clues.
Well, unearth it was to be too.
Having searched our way meticulously through Bennett's things starting in the attic and working our way down we eventually came to the cellar.
After Bull had crashed his way through the stairs we finally found a strong box buried in a corner. Once the traps were disarmed we discovered just an ether-graph image and a pair of keys.
The image was of Bennett's family.
One of the keys, we discovered later, were for a lock up a street away. The second key being to the battered old zep-car held within it. As the day was drawing on we decided to forgo any return to the hotel and head straight for Skelton's. However we had no idea where that was, so I hit on a novel idea – we'd recruit the local constabulary. I hoped Bull's credentials would be enough.
The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journal of an English Lord
20th February 1984 Continued......
The Manchester Police were rather taken aback at our sudden arrival and at first the uniformed Bobbie didn't know how to react.
Eventually Detective Burns took control and organised some uniforms to assist us.
Burns came with us in the old zep-car and the policemen followed on strange gyro-copter contraptions.
We should have known really, the way things had been panning out of late.
We'd developed ourselves a tail and they were rather aggressive.
JP managed to rip the flight control box out of the car, allowing us free flight outside the normal lanes.
I must admit that at one time, having leaped out of our car and onto theirs, whilst Bull had done the same, I hadn't really given much thought to the consequences of leaving JP in control of ours.
I don't think he'll let me forget that for some time to come.
Never mind, needs must and all that!
We overcame our adversaries in the end, finding out from their pilot who they worked for and then where exactly they had taken Dr Bennett.
20th February 1984 Continued......
The Manchester Police were rather taken aback at our sudden arrival and at first the uniformed Bobbie didn't know how to react.
Eventually Detective Burns took control and organised some uniforms to assist us.
Burns came with us in the old zep-car and the policemen followed on strange gyro-copter contraptions.
We should have known really, the way things had been panning out of late.
We'd developed ourselves a tail and they were rather aggressive.
JP managed to rip the flight control box out of the car, allowing us free flight outside the normal lanes.
I must admit that at one time, having leaped out of our car and onto theirs, whilst Bull had done the same, I hadn't really given much thought to the consequences of leaving JP in control of ours.
I don't think he'll let me forget that for some time to come.
Never mind, needs must and all that!
We overcame our adversaries in the end, finding out from their pilot who they worked for and then where exactly they had taken Dr Bennett.
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journal of an English Lord
21st February 1984
It must have been around midnight when we had commandeered their vehicle.
Detective burns was both stunned and amazed by our antics and I rather think he would have chosen to remain behind if he'd known.
After a wee bit of persuasion – JP style – the drive told us exactly where to find Bennett.
We took their zep-car, judging that Skelton's men would recognise it and ignore it until it was too late.
Our plan worked well as we were able to get right in over the warehouse where Bennett was being held.
We were about to order the police officers to begin their assault when we noticed another group closig in.
Skelton's lot were holding them off and their attention was away from us.
Over the main building we dealt with a rooftop gunman and JP decided to try and nip in through the skylight.
He didn't land as he would have hoped, slipped and tumbled down the roof. My initial thought as he disappeared over the edge was that he would not survive.
Luck or some other mystical design must have intervened as JP despite being stunned, had managed to get away with only a knock to the head.
As he lay inert upon the ground, the rear door burst open and who should appear but the good doctor himself.
He looked as though Skelton's mob had been pretty rough on him.
Bull sorted out those members of Skelton's team that made a nuisance of themselves and we bundled Bennett and JP into the car, pulling away as quickly as the thing could muster.
It was moments later that our elation at such an easy resque was dashed upon the rocks of karma.
Our departure had drawn much gunfire from below and Bennett had received a fatal wound, but not before imparting upon us the necessity to get to his lab.
Even with Bennett dead I knew we had to continue on. This bloody device of his was on the verge of falling into the wrong hands.
**
At first glance Bennett's lab looked quiet enough, but then we spotted the sniper on the roof opposite the main entrance.
I brought the zep-car around to the back entrance, out of sight of the sniper. Bull, JP and myself went in cautiously, eventually followed by Burns.
Inside the lab we encountered agents of The Reich. It was a frantic fight, Bull and JP keeping them busy and under pressure whilst I tried to capture one of them.
Things didn't go entirely to plan there, my first captive dying and my second target getting away. It turned out he escaped with Bennett's journal containing enough details for the Reich to determine the location of Bennett's machine on the scope side.
We knew this because in him escaping we encountered a terrified man named Simon, who was Bennett's assistant.
Whilst JP interrogated Simon, in a friendly non-chemically enhanced way, I hit on a strange idea. I have no clue why but just thought of it then. Just to see if I really was seeing things, or crazy, I went out to the zep-car and jacked in to the scope.
I didn't enter any co-ordinates, I merely opened my mind to my surroundings.
There I found Bennett sat next to a large gravestone inscribed with his own name. He was, of course, well aware of his situation, that being that he was dead, and seemed to be taking it well. He was disappointed that he would not be able to carry on his work though.
Not knowing whether I was right in doing so I suggested that he might wish to devote his time to the study of his current location, somewhere within the wild scope.
I asked him of his hidden laboratory where the Prime Converter was constructed. It was the information that we were missing and as JP had pointed out, the Germans had the details for the scope part, so were less likely to be heading for the physical equipment.
Bennett's answer; the sewer kingdom of Ralph Faulks.
This was to be my test. If I was going mad then whatever experience I had just had would be a figment of my own imagination. There was no way I would know of this Faulks or that that was the place to find the laboratory. Of course, if my answers were correct then that meant I really had communed with the dead. Found the prospect chilling.
Simon had given us something of Bennett's; upload tabs for finding and destroying the machine, both in the physical and scope worlds.
Apparently destroying either one would render the other useless and trigger a destruction of the other.
We left the body of Bennett in the care of Simon and Detective Burns and took to the air.
Although the tab didn't say to look in the Kingdom of Faulks it guided us to a specific entrance in the sewers.
With Lacotte now with us we ventured in and simultaneously piquing my interest and filling me with an odd sense of … fear? I realised that my conversation with the dead Bennett had been no imaginative figment.
Speaking with the dead? Through the scope? Mad maybe, but at least I hadn't taken to wearing large hooped earrings and carry a crystal ball!
**
Our first encounter, once we were inside the sewers was with the god awful smell! Lacotte went so far as to say it was fragrant, in the manner of my mother commenting on my Grandmother's pot-pouri.
If he wasn't such a big bloke I would have slapped him!
Very soon we came upon a toll booth. The price was extortionate but we had little choice.
By the information imparted to us by the tabs, these 'gatekeepers' were from a clan that was not affiliated with a kingdom or other territory. They merely ensured the main highways between the kingdoms remained open.
JP had inquired as to whether there were any other outsiders down here, and whether these folks might ensure that we were the only ones.
The old gentleman's posture and demeanour suggested that we had already been beaten to the mark.
Proceeding cautiously we entered Faulks' realm.
Our first obstacle came when the tunnel opened into a chamber, the walkway finishing here and continuing on down the opposite tunnel, across a filthy looking pool.
JP wasted no time and plunged right in. I have to admit to being a little less inclined but eventually went for it, dropping down into the waist high water.
I slipped and went under, only just managing to keep the filthy muck from my mouth.
JP on the other hand met with an all together different trouble. A crocodile of all things latching on to his leg and dragging him down.
Whilst I floundered, trying to find my footing, Lacotte came into his own, diving straight in and wrestling with the beast.
I have to say I had seen nothing of the sort in my life, it was like something straight out of the pages of Greystoke.
However, it did take all of Lacotte's quite obvious strength to hold the creature still whilst simultaneously holding JP's head above water.
The thing still held on to JP's leg like a dog not wanting to give over it's favourite bone.
In the end we had to shoot it through the eye with the German machinegun.
There was a lot of blood and bull helped patch JP up. The erstwhile professor quaffed some odd concoction and before we could stop him he was up right as rain and marching on.
He called after us telling us to hurry up as he didn't know how long the effects of the draught would last.
It was the first time I had exchanged one of those “uh-oh!” glances with Lacotte. Normally he is the one causing such looks between JP and myself.
**
We travelled through more of the dank dark arched tunnels, the flotsam and jetsam of human waste rippling in a repulsive stream beside the walkway.
My God, how it smelt right then!
My suit was ruined, my hat was missing – lost when we encountered the crocodile and now, in the middle of winter, I was freezing cold, soaking wet, filthy and smelling awful.
Thankfully the path ended in a small set of steps that took us up into a disused subway tunnel and within a few yards we were climbing up onto a station platform.
We were immediately accosted by Gamma's who I suspected were under the control of Faulks. We were asked to leave.
I have to say that we didn't get off to the best of starts with these fellows as JP, in a mixture of pain and drug induced delirium began shouting for the man who owned the damned crocodile.
It was all I could do to stop JP shooting the old chap who was already insisting we clear off.
We tried to bargain with them but a voice from the door to what must have been the old waiting room urged the gamma's to stop talking and start fighting.
The man in the door didn't look like a gamma. Too tall and clean. However, a right old scuffle ensued.
The man in the doorway produced and odd looking pistol. When it fired the retort was deafening and the pistol seemed to give off a strange greenish smoke.
The bullet however struck me a glancing blow on the shoulder. I was most glad of the mesh armour Bull had provided for us because other than a dull throb from the impact I felt no other pain.
I got out of the brawl sharpish, hoping that I might come upon our mysterious stranger by stealth.
In fact, with all that was going on it was aa simple thing to sneak up on the doorway unobserved.
JP, Lacotte and Bull were rather busy bashing heads here and shooting limbs there.
I think it was the old gamma who went by the name of Scribbler who, in a bellowed order at his companions, revealed the man in the door with the heavy Manchester accent was none other than Skelton himself.
Now that I was much closer I could see that Skelton's pistol was an ether-tech weapon. How it hadn't blown my arm off I'll never know.
Not wanting to take any chances I unclipped the German machine-gun thing and quickly popped it around the door frame, squeezing the trigger and emptying the magazine.
I'd aimed low and found that I had torn his legs to ribbons.
He was sprawled out on the grubby floor writhing in pain. Time to finish him, I thought.
As I stepped into the doorway the door was slammed shut, squashing me against the frame but not seriously hurting me.
Dancing back I was confronted by a man I later discovered was called Sweeney. I guessed by the knife in is hand that this must have some reference to Fleet Street's demon barber, and I doubted very much that it had anything to do with his given name.
I drew my sword from my cane and prepared to fight. We played and pranced and postured then, when he realised that his skill with a blade far outmatched mine and he began to press home his advantage, I managed to surprise him by drawing my pistol and shooing at him.
Of the blasted luck the damn thing failed and I was left wheeling backwards, Sweeney having slashed my arm.
We were out on the platform fighting now and I could see Lacotte, JP and Bull back to back fighting off hordes of the sewer dwellers.
Sudden excruciating pain in my leg let me know I'd yet another wound. In the to-and-fro of our combat I managed to position myself in the doorway, suddenly but painfully leaping back through it and slamming the door shut, sliding the bolt across. Sweeney was left on the other side frustratedly trying to get his knife in at me.
I looked for Skelton in the hope of finishing that man off, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only a smeared line of blood leading towards the far door revealed anything of his whereabouts.
It was then that I noted there was a knife embedded in my thigh and as the adrenaline of the fight began to wear off so did my awareness of the pain increase. Having listened to Dr Chase often enough, I knew that removing the blade would be a major mistake so despite my natural instinct, I left it there.
The bastard Sweeney! He appeared at the far door briefly and something small and round was thrown in to come bouncing along the floor to a rest next to me. It smoked slightly from one end.
I recognised it as a grenade instantly and threw myself away from it.
The explosion left a ringing in my ears and the shrapnel tore sheds from my back and legs, but not enough that I could not go on.
As the smoke cleared I clambered unsteadily to my feet and stumbled for the door, my gun re-chambered and in my hand.
But Sweeney and Skelton were gone.
Then I spotted old Scribbler as he urged the gamma's on in their attack on JP, Bull and Lacotte.
I don't know if it was me pointing out that it was Faulks and not Skelton who ran things here or the fact that I mentioned Skelton's alliance with the Germans, but before we knew it the fight had stopped.
As I write this journal some considerable time after the events, much of what followed I have either forgotten or was too tired and in too much pain to heed.
Suffice to say that we travelled deeper into the Great Metropolis' sewers than I had imagined possible, coming at last to a great town in a vast cavern. I do not recall if the cavern was natural or a man made part of the sewer network. There were proper houses and streets here so that it looked just like a normal part of the city above ground.
Here we were treated well and one of the gamma's even fixed up our wounds as best they could.
I had been dubious but afterwards I felt no pain. Whatever salve, foul smelling though it was, she had plastered over the deep ragged wound had completely numbed it, though with the damage done I still walked with a heavy limp.
We were then herded on towards a larger dwelling, looking remarkably like a council building. We were being taken to meet with Faulks himself.
Eventually we came to a set of rooms that took my breath away by it contrast.
Further and further we had so far progressed into the sewer kingdom, dark, rank, wet, cramped, bloody awful.
Yet now we emerged into brightly lit rooms with plush fitted carpet, comfortable chairs, expensive looking wallpaper.
If I didn't know any better I'd say we were in a gentleman's club in Kensington, not some room deep beneath Manchester.
There was a shallow trough in which we had to clean our shoes before being allowed to progress further.
“King” Faulks, master of this kingdom was sitting behind a large oak desk in the next room. Looking for all intents and purposes like the home secretary, in both dress and demeanour. Yet this man, leader of a self proclaimed sewer kingdom was not one of the rat-like diminutive Gamma's. Nor was he totally human, or a Beta, as the scientific community has classified the majority of humanity. No, this man was tall, slender, almost pretty. This was an Alpha, genetically manipulated to host the best qualities of the human condition.
It was at this point that I looked at Bull with renewed interest. The formation of the big man's cheeks, the shape of his skull, similar in perfection to the “king's” yet more robust. Bull was an alpha too then. I felt a tinge of inferiority. It didn't last long.
Faulks was dissmissive of us at first, in fact I believe it was his original intention to have us killed.
I should have liked to see what the outcome of that particular order would have been.
I know that for my own part I was prepared to eliminate him right now. Even as I stood there in my wet, ruined clothing I was fingering the hammer of a pistol in my pocket.
Faulks, I feel, for all his confidence, would have met his end before we did.
But it didn't come to that. We spoke like gentlemen briefly then after mention of the Reich-lander's again, he gave us permission to proceed to the doctor's lab.
**
Escorted by Scribbler and his “crew” we arrived at the laboratory.
It was an easy matter for JP and Bull to destroy the essential components that would mean the device was rendered useless.
Scribbler's orders were to bring us out of Faulks' kingdom once we were finished by the quickest route, which he did.
Emerging though we were into a dull, cloudy and early February morning our eyes still stung with the comparative brightness.
Although we had much still upon our minds, hospital was our first port of call...
21st February 1984
It must have been around midnight when we had commandeered their vehicle.
Detective burns was both stunned and amazed by our antics and I rather think he would have chosen to remain behind if he'd known.
After a wee bit of persuasion – JP style – the drive told us exactly where to find Bennett.
We took their zep-car, judging that Skelton's men would recognise it and ignore it until it was too late.
Our plan worked well as we were able to get right in over the warehouse where Bennett was being held.
We were about to order the police officers to begin their assault when we noticed another group closig in.
Skelton's lot were holding them off and their attention was away from us.
Over the main building we dealt with a rooftop gunman and JP decided to try and nip in through the skylight.
He didn't land as he would have hoped, slipped and tumbled down the roof. My initial thought as he disappeared over the edge was that he would not survive.
Luck or some other mystical design must have intervened as JP despite being stunned, had managed to get away with only a knock to the head.
As he lay inert upon the ground, the rear door burst open and who should appear but the good doctor himself.
He looked as though Skelton's mob had been pretty rough on him.
Bull sorted out those members of Skelton's team that made a nuisance of themselves and we bundled Bennett and JP into the car, pulling away as quickly as the thing could muster.
It was moments later that our elation at such an easy resque was dashed upon the rocks of karma.
Our departure had drawn much gunfire from below and Bennett had received a fatal wound, but not before imparting upon us the necessity to get to his lab.
Even with Bennett dead I knew we had to continue on. This bloody device of his was on the verge of falling into the wrong hands.
**
At first glance Bennett's lab looked quiet enough, but then we spotted the sniper on the roof opposite the main entrance.
I brought the zep-car around to the back entrance, out of sight of the sniper. Bull, JP and myself went in cautiously, eventually followed by Burns.
Inside the lab we encountered agents of The Reich. It was a frantic fight, Bull and JP keeping them busy and under pressure whilst I tried to capture one of them.
Things didn't go entirely to plan there, my first captive dying and my second target getting away. It turned out he escaped with Bennett's journal containing enough details for the Reich to determine the location of Bennett's machine on the scope side.
We knew this because in him escaping we encountered a terrified man named Simon, who was Bennett's assistant.
Whilst JP interrogated Simon, in a friendly non-chemically enhanced way, I hit on a strange idea. I have no clue why but just thought of it then. Just to see if I really was seeing things, or crazy, I went out to the zep-car and jacked in to the scope.
I didn't enter any co-ordinates, I merely opened my mind to my surroundings.
There I found Bennett sat next to a large gravestone inscribed with his own name. He was, of course, well aware of his situation, that being that he was dead, and seemed to be taking it well. He was disappointed that he would not be able to carry on his work though.
Not knowing whether I was right in doing so I suggested that he might wish to devote his time to the study of his current location, somewhere within the wild scope.
I asked him of his hidden laboratory where the Prime Converter was constructed. It was the information that we were missing and as JP had pointed out, the Germans had the details for the scope part, so were less likely to be heading for the physical equipment.
Bennett's answer; the sewer kingdom of Ralph Faulks.
This was to be my test. If I was going mad then whatever experience I had just had would be a figment of my own imagination. There was no way I would know of this Faulks or that that was the place to find the laboratory. Of course, if my answers were correct then that meant I really had communed with the dead. Found the prospect chilling.
Simon had given us something of Bennett's; upload tabs for finding and destroying the machine, both in the physical and scope worlds.
Apparently destroying either one would render the other useless and trigger a destruction of the other.
We left the body of Bennett in the care of Simon and Detective Burns and took to the air.
Although the tab didn't say to look in the Kingdom of Faulks it guided us to a specific entrance in the sewers.
With Lacotte now with us we ventured in and simultaneously piquing my interest and filling me with an odd sense of … fear? I realised that my conversation with the dead Bennett had been no imaginative figment.
Speaking with the dead? Through the scope? Mad maybe, but at least I hadn't taken to wearing large hooped earrings and carry a crystal ball!
**
Our first encounter, once we were inside the sewers was with the god awful smell! Lacotte went so far as to say it was fragrant, in the manner of my mother commenting on my Grandmother's pot-pouri.
If he wasn't such a big bloke I would have slapped him!
Very soon we came upon a toll booth. The price was extortionate but we had little choice.
By the information imparted to us by the tabs, these 'gatekeepers' were from a clan that was not affiliated with a kingdom or other territory. They merely ensured the main highways between the kingdoms remained open.
JP had inquired as to whether there were any other outsiders down here, and whether these folks might ensure that we were the only ones.
The old gentleman's posture and demeanour suggested that we had already been beaten to the mark.
Proceeding cautiously we entered Faulks' realm.
Our first obstacle came when the tunnel opened into a chamber, the walkway finishing here and continuing on down the opposite tunnel, across a filthy looking pool.
JP wasted no time and plunged right in. I have to admit to being a little less inclined but eventually went for it, dropping down into the waist high water.
I slipped and went under, only just managing to keep the filthy muck from my mouth.
JP on the other hand met with an all together different trouble. A crocodile of all things latching on to his leg and dragging him down.
Whilst I floundered, trying to find my footing, Lacotte came into his own, diving straight in and wrestling with the beast.
I have to say I had seen nothing of the sort in my life, it was like something straight out of the pages of Greystoke.
However, it did take all of Lacotte's quite obvious strength to hold the creature still whilst simultaneously holding JP's head above water.
The thing still held on to JP's leg like a dog not wanting to give over it's favourite bone.
In the end we had to shoot it through the eye with the German machinegun.
There was a lot of blood and bull helped patch JP up. The erstwhile professor quaffed some odd concoction and before we could stop him he was up right as rain and marching on.
He called after us telling us to hurry up as he didn't know how long the effects of the draught would last.
It was the first time I had exchanged one of those “uh-oh!” glances with Lacotte. Normally he is the one causing such looks between JP and myself.
**
We travelled through more of the dank dark arched tunnels, the flotsam and jetsam of human waste rippling in a repulsive stream beside the walkway.
My God, how it smelt right then!
My suit was ruined, my hat was missing – lost when we encountered the crocodile and now, in the middle of winter, I was freezing cold, soaking wet, filthy and smelling awful.
Thankfully the path ended in a small set of steps that took us up into a disused subway tunnel and within a few yards we were climbing up onto a station platform.
We were immediately accosted by Gamma's who I suspected were under the control of Faulks. We were asked to leave.
I have to say that we didn't get off to the best of starts with these fellows as JP, in a mixture of pain and drug induced delirium began shouting for the man who owned the damned crocodile.
It was all I could do to stop JP shooting the old chap who was already insisting we clear off.
We tried to bargain with them but a voice from the door to what must have been the old waiting room urged the gamma's to stop talking and start fighting.
The man in the door didn't look like a gamma. Too tall and clean. However, a right old scuffle ensued.
The man in the doorway produced and odd looking pistol. When it fired the retort was deafening and the pistol seemed to give off a strange greenish smoke.
The bullet however struck me a glancing blow on the shoulder. I was most glad of the mesh armour Bull had provided for us because other than a dull throb from the impact I felt no other pain.
I got out of the brawl sharpish, hoping that I might come upon our mysterious stranger by stealth.
In fact, with all that was going on it was aa simple thing to sneak up on the doorway unobserved.
JP, Lacotte and Bull were rather busy bashing heads here and shooting limbs there.
I think it was the old gamma who went by the name of Scribbler who, in a bellowed order at his companions, revealed the man in the door with the heavy Manchester accent was none other than Skelton himself.
Now that I was much closer I could see that Skelton's pistol was an ether-tech weapon. How it hadn't blown my arm off I'll never know.
Not wanting to take any chances I unclipped the German machine-gun thing and quickly popped it around the door frame, squeezing the trigger and emptying the magazine.
I'd aimed low and found that I had torn his legs to ribbons.
He was sprawled out on the grubby floor writhing in pain. Time to finish him, I thought.
As I stepped into the doorway the door was slammed shut, squashing me against the frame but not seriously hurting me.
Dancing back I was confronted by a man I later discovered was called Sweeney. I guessed by the knife in is hand that this must have some reference to Fleet Street's demon barber, and I doubted very much that it had anything to do with his given name.
I drew my sword from my cane and prepared to fight. We played and pranced and postured then, when he realised that his skill with a blade far outmatched mine and he began to press home his advantage, I managed to surprise him by drawing my pistol and shooing at him.
Of the blasted luck the damn thing failed and I was left wheeling backwards, Sweeney having slashed my arm.
We were out on the platform fighting now and I could see Lacotte, JP and Bull back to back fighting off hordes of the sewer dwellers.
Sudden excruciating pain in my leg let me know I'd yet another wound. In the to-and-fro of our combat I managed to position myself in the doorway, suddenly but painfully leaping back through it and slamming the door shut, sliding the bolt across. Sweeney was left on the other side frustratedly trying to get his knife in at me.
I looked for Skelton in the hope of finishing that man off, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only a smeared line of blood leading towards the far door revealed anything of his whereabouts.
It was then that I noted there was a knife embedded in my thigh and as the adrenaline of the fight began to wear off so did my awareness of the pain increase. Having listened to Dr Chase often enough, I knew that removing the blade would be a major mistake so despite my natural instinct, I left it there.
The bastard Sweeney! He appeared at the far door briefly and something small and round was thrown in to come bouncing along the floor to a rest next to me. It smoked slightly from one end.
I recognised it as a grenade instantly and threw myself away from it.
The explosion left a ringing in my ears and the shrapnel tore sheds from my back and legs, but not enough that I could not go on.
As the smoke cleared I clambered unsteadily to my feet and stumbled for the door, my gun re-chambered and in my hand.
But Sweeney and Skelton were gone.
Then I spotted old Scribbler as he urged the gamma's on in their attack on JP, Bull and Lacotte.
I don't know if it was me pointing out that it was Faulks and not Skelton who ran things here or the fact that I mentioned Skelton's alliance with the Germans, but before we knew it the fight had stopped.
As I write this journal some considerable time after the events, much of what followed I have either forgotten or was too tired and in too much pain to heed.
Suffice to say that we travelled deeper into the Great Metropolis' sewers than I had imagined possible, coming at last to a great town in a vast cavern. I do not recall if the cavern was natural or a man made part of the sewer network. There were proper houses and streets here so that it looked just like a normal part of the city above ground.
Here we were treated well and one of the gamma's even fixed up our wounds as best they could.
I had been dubious but afterwards I felt no pain. Whatever salve, foul smelling though it was, she had plastered over the deep ragged wound had completely numbed it, though with the damage done I still walked with a heavy limp.
We were then herded on towards a larger dwelling, looking remarkably like a council building. We were being taken to meet with Faulks himself.
Eventually we came to a set of rooms that took my breath away by it contrast.
Further and further we had so far progressed into the sewer kingdom, dark, rank, wet, cramped, bloody awful.
Yet now we emerged into brightly lit rooms with plush fitted carpet, comfortable chairs, expensive looking wallpaper.
If I didn't know any better I'd say we were in a gentleman's club in Kensington, not some room deep beneath Manchester.
There was a shallow trough in which we had to clean our shoes before being allowed to progress further.
“King” Faulks, master of this kingdom was sitting behind a large oak desk in the next room. Looking for all intents and purposes like the home secretary, in both dress and demeanour. Yet this man, leader of a self proclaimed sewer kingdom was not one of the rat-like diminutive Gamma's. Nor was he totally human, or a Beta, as the scientific community has classified the majority of humanity. No, this man was tall, slender, almost pretty. This was an Alpha, genetically manipulated to host the best qualities of the human condition.
It was at this point that I looked at Bull with renewed interest. The formation of the big man's cheeks, the shape of his skull, similar in perfection to the “king's” yet more robust. Bull was an alpha too then. I felt a tinge of inferiority. It didn't last long.
Faulks was dissmissive of us at first, in fact I believe it was his original intention to have us killed.
I should have liked to see what the outcome of that particular order would have been.
I know that for my own part I was prepared to eliminate him right now. Even as I stood there in my wet, ruined clothing I was fingering the hammer of a pistol in my pocket.
Faulks, I feel, for all his confidence, would have met his end before we did.
But it didn't come to that. We spoke like gentlemen briefly then after mention of the Reich-lander's again, he gave us permission to proceed to the doctor's lab.
**
Escorted by Scribbler and his “crew” we arrived at the laboratory.
It was an easy matter for JP and Bull to destroy the essential components that would mean the device was rendered useless.
Scribbler's orders were to bring us out of Faulks' kingdom once we were finished by the quickest route, which he did.
Emerging though we were into a dull, cloudy and early February morning our eyes still stung with the comparative brightness.
Although we had much still upon our minds, hospital was our first port of call...
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journal of an English Lord
22nd February - 26th February 1984.
We convalesced for several days, first in hospital, and then in the hotel, where a private doctor was called.
Once ready to travel we booked passage south to London. JP wanted to check on his girls, Bull needed to report in, Lacotte just wanted to get back to his normal life and I, having no mind for the hectic city at the moment decided I would retire to Maristow.
I extended an invite to my companions to join me once they had concluded their business.
Only Lacotte declined.
22nd February - 26th February 1984.
We convalesced for several days, first in hospital, and then in the hotel, where a private doctor was called.
Once ready to travel we booked passage south to London. JP wanted to check on his girls, Bull needed to report in, Lacotte just wanted to get back to his normal life and I, having no mind for the hectic city at the moment decided I would retire to Maristow.
I extended an invite to my companions to join me once they had concluded their business.
Only Lacotte declined.
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journals of an English Lord
March & April 1984
It was a pleasant change of pace, being back at Maristow after all this time.
Normally I would pop in for a day or two whilst on my way to somewhere else, or to deposit an item I had acquired in the old hidden vault in the cellar.
It was never a peaceful return and Beth, Elizabeth, would always be fussing that I was a disruption to routine.
Beth, my only sister, lived in our family home running the estates and despite the fact that Maristow was actually mine, she was always annoyed at my often unannounced arrivals.
This time however, having read about my foiling a plot by the Reich in the papers, and seeing my rather wounded condition, she seemed very accepting of my return.
Elizabeth is several years younger than myself and despite being married when she was sixteen, she was widowed by twenty, having borne a son and a daughter, twins, of her own.
Having my sister and her children nursing me and fussing after me was rather nice.
I think Beth was actually glad to have me there as she was being propositioned by a number of eligible bachelors on a regular basis. Once it was known that I was back they seemed less inclined to come calling!
It was in mid-March that my guests arrived.
JP's leg seemed to be healing well, Chase doing his thing with excellent skill as usual.
Bull seemed completely oblivious to the slowly healing holes and cuts that peppered his torso, though his more serous wounds had been to his limbs.
Being cybernaughtic, these had been repaired by the ministry technicians.
All this time got me to thinking about how much my life had changed since the beginning of February.
My father had trained me in skills that were quite simply unbecoming of a member of the aristocracy and had me put them to nefarious use, though always with strict guidelines and never overly conspicuous. Why?
I had wondered this for many years. It was like having a thoroughbred hunting dog and only letting it chase sticks.
Then, days before he had died he called me to his room.
There he said to me that I, like him, would come to find myself more involved in things than I would expect or wish to be.
When that happened, said he, I would want to gather around me individuals of a similar disposition, although probably not in background. These individuals with unique knowledge and skills of their own would join me, of their own accord or through means of provident circumstance.
I would know when this was.
This group would band together in crises, helping one another. They would require a man of wealth and position to lend credence to their actions and provide financial support. He believed I was in as good a position as any to take that role.
Father told me not to bring “the group's” business home.
At the time he had told me all this I had thought him going mad. How could he possibly know the future? Just because something like that had happened to him why should it follow with me?
Well here I was, two unique yet intrinsically linked adventures later.
“Adventures?” I hear the casual reader of the journals scoff! Well what other description better fits the scenarios in which I have been involved?
And I was gathering unique persons about myself. You only had to look to JP and then to Bull to know that was true. Even Lacotte was unique in both his skills and more importantly his connections and knowledge of the seedier, grimier side of life.
If I was to complete father's prediction then I would need somewhere away from both Maristow and Knightsbridge. Somewhere odd people and strange things would not necessarily go unnoticed, but would be ignored as nothing unusual.
I looked about and found an establishment on Shaftsbury Avenue. I spoke to JP and Bull who both considered it a grand idea, buying an old theatre. In fact, so taken with the idea were they that they decided to chip in!
March & April 1984
It was a pleasant change of pace, being back at Maristow after all this time.
Normally I would pop in for a day or two whilst on my way to somewhere else, or to deposit an item I had acquired in the old hidden vault in the cellar.
It was never a peaceful return and Beth, Elizabeth, would always be fussing that I was a disruption to routine.
Beth, my only sister, lived in our family home running the estates and despite the fact that Maristow was actually mine, she was always annoyed at my often unannounced arrivals.
This time however, having read about my foiling a plot by the Reich in the papers, and seeing my rather wounded condition, she seemed very accepting of my return.
Elizabeth is several years younger than myself and despite being married when she was sixteen, she was widowed by twenty, having borne a son and a daughter, twins, of her own.
Having my sister and her children nursing me and fussing after me was rather nice.
I think Beth was actually glad to have me there as she was being propositioned by a number of eligible bachelors on a regular basis. Once it was known that I was back they seemed less inclined to come calling!
It was in mid-March that my guests arrived.
JP's leg seemed to be healing well, Chase doing his thing with excellent skill as usual.
Bull seemed completely oblivious to the slowly healing holes and cuts that peppered his torso, though his more serous wounds had been to his limbs.
Being cybernaughtic, these had been repaired by the ministry technicians.
All this time got me to thinking about how much my life had changed since the beginning of February.
My father had trained me in skills that were quite simply unbecoming of a member of the aristocracy and had me put them to nefarious use, though always with strict guidelines and never overly conspicuous. Why?
I had wondered this for many years. It was like having a thoroughbred hunting dog and only letting it chase sticks.
Then, days before he had died he called me to his room.
There he said to me that I, like him, would come to find myself more involved in things than I would expect or wish to be.
When that happened, said he, I would want to gather around me individuals of a similar disposition, although probably not in background. These individuals with unique knowledge and skills of their own would join me, of their own accord or through means of provident circumstance.
I would know when this was.
This group would band together in crises, helping one another. They would require a man of wealth and position to lend credence to their actions and provide financial support. He believed I was in as good a position as any to take that role.
Father told me not to bring “the group's” business home.
At the time he had told me all this I had thought him going mad. How could he possibly know the future? Just because something like that had happened to him why should it follow with me?
Well here I was, two unique yet intrinsically linked adventures later.
“Adventures?” I hear the casual reader of the journals scoff! Well what other description better fits the scenarios in which I have been involved?
And I was gathering unique persons about myself. You only had to look to JP and then to Bull to know that was true. Even Lacotte was unique in both his skills and more importantly his connections and knowledge of the seedier, grimier side of life.
If I was to complete father's prediction then I would need somewhere away from both Maristow and Knightsbridge. Somewhere odd people and strange things would not necessarily go unnoticed, but would be ignored as nothing unusual.
I looked about and found an establishment on Shaftsbury Avenue. I spoke to JP and Bull who both considered it a grand idea, buying an old theatre. In fact, so taken with the idea were they that they decided to chip in!
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journals of an English Lord
21st April 1984
So it was then that in the morning just as we were getting ready to go out for a round of golf at St Melion , that I received a call on the ether-comm from the conveyancing solicitor we three had engaged.
The polite young man on the comm, a representative of Woodframe & Hearth informed me that the vendor was very keen, had been well prepared and was eager for the sale to proceed.
The solicitor said that all of the paperwork was being checked and our signatures would be required in four days, that being the 25th. Once signed the papers would be ether-scanned across to the vendor and the theatre would be ours.
JP announced that the theatre would be called The Magdeline.
It was a good name for a theatre, if one ignored the reference to biblical whores! Neither Bull nor myself could come up with anything better.
We were joined on the green at St Melion by my father's old friend, Lyndsey Trenholm or The Viscount Falmouth, and by Sir Virgil Sarls, a high ranking member of the Eugenics League.
All in all a good day even if I did have to hobble most of the way on my stick.
Later in the 19th hole Falmouth invited us to join him at a show he was seeing in London in a couple of days.
We accepted and I, in turn, offered the use of The Wraith, my new shiny black, sleek steam train.
21st April 1984
So it was then that in the morning just as we were getting ready to go out for a round of golf at St Melion , that I received a call on the ether-comm from the conveyancing solicitor we three had engaged.
The polite young man on the comm, a representative of Woodframe & Hearth informed me that the vendor was very keen, had been well prepared and was eager for the sale to proceed.
The solicitor said that all of the paperwork was being checked and our signatures would be required in four days, that being the 25th. Once signed the papers would be ether-scanned across to the vendor and the theatre would be ours.
JP announced that the theatre would be called The Magdeline.
It was a good name for a theatre, if one ignored the reference to biblical whores! Neither Bull nor myself could come up with anything better.
We were joined on the green at St Melion by my father's old friend, Lyndsey Trenholm or The Viscount Falmouth, and by Sir Virgil Sarls, a high ranking member of the Eugenics League.
All in all a good day even if I did have to hobble most of the way on my stick.
Later in the 19th hole Falmouth invited us to join him at a show he was seeing in London in a couple of days.
We accepted and I, in turn, offered the use of The Wraith, my new shiny black, sleek steam train.
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journals of an English Lord
23rd April 1984
On our way up to the capital our discussions turned to our recent experiences.
JP announced his desire to return to the house where we had met High Collar Man upon the ether.
Although wary at first I was interested to see the place again.
Falmouth, intrigued and a little naïve, requested that he come along too and despite my warnings that our destination was nothing like the pleasure domes of Soho he still persisted.
We arrived in the grounds of the house this time and were confronted by odd bestial looking hounds, lots of them.
We made for the house smartly and once inside it didn't take long for HCM to appear. And then so did more of these dogs. There was a scuffle with the beasts.
I quickly erected a portal through the wall HCM also stepping through.
There were words exchanged and Bull, unused to the ways of the scope tried to fight HCM after the enigmatic figure who at first seemed to be helping us, had stabbed and killed JP's avatar.
HCM was far too quick for Bull, something the big man was not used to. All this came to a head though as the dogs appeared through the portal I had forgotten to close.
HCM began to fight them, indicating that we leave.
Bull 'returned' Falmouth to the real world and then turned the pistol on himself.
I was about to leave myself when a thought came to me.
I jumped in beside HCM, taking on the dogs. More and more were coming in. eventually as things started to get frantic HCM told me to go. Actually spoke, or rather hissed. There had been ample opportunity for him to take me down but he didn't. Why not?
With a salute I logged out.
Falmouth was full of it, talking like an excited school boy. He said it was most different to the pleasure domes he had previously visited.
I lied, telling him it was a similar concept, but instead of the hedonistic delights we were beset by difficult challenges that we had to overcome whilst solving clues along the way.
He seemed impressed.
***
that evening's entertainment was excellent; a good yarn well told. It was probably considered high-brow and I felt justified in not contacting Lacotte and inviting him along. I had the feeling he would have issued a stream of obscenities in my direction declining the invite anyway.
It was as we filtered out of the theatre (not too far from our new purchase) that we heard the scream.
I don't know what compelled us, but we all three; Bull, JP and myself cast each other a knowing glance and made wordlessly for the corner from which the sound had come.
There we discovered a young couple down the side alley, one Natty Miller, a working girl not in JP's employ, and Joseph Jefferies, an accountant whose details I ascertained before allowing him to make himself scarce. A married man he seemed more concerned about his own predicament – that of being discovered with a lower class tail like Natty than he did about what he and she had just discovered.
Their little tryst had made use of and old cart parked against the theatre wall as a support for Natty.
In the course of the coupling they had disturbed the cart and in doing so had caused the old tarpaulin covering the contents to slip, revealing the corpse of a young woman.
Red haired and delicate of features this woman, as JP very soon discovered, was yet another victim of the unknown killer that had taken the life of one of his girls. HCM was our prime suspect in that investigation.
Natty very quickly identified her as a working girl, new to the area.
Bull kept the crowds back while JP did more investigation.
I was, at this point, reluctant to get too involved. This was a case for the police, whom I could hear approaching with calls of “step aside,” and “coming through.”
As they bustled past me I reflected upon the situation as a whole.
I had been shocked to discover upon my return from the Great Metropolis that I had been named in the national press as the man who thwarted a plot against Britain by the Reich.
I wondered how my peers would take it, but also whether the enhanced reputation I gained would be harmful to me in my other pursuits. In fact the event had brought my name to the forefront of many conversations amongst the peerage but for all the right reasons.
So, did I want to expose myself to more attention? I was not sure so I opted to sit back and avoid being the centre of this episode.
Detective Sergeant Armstrong arrived once the bobbies had secured the area, shooing everyone away.
It was only Bull's credentials that had allowed us to remain near the crime scene thus far.
Thankfully Armstrong, with whom JP and myself had a particular bond with after the discovery of those murdered children upon a rooftop not too far from here, allowed JP to continue.
My friend took samples of blood and also discovered the victims blue tongue.
Armstrong informed us that there had been seven girls now, reported dead. This one was not the only one with a blue tongue. Those that were strangled to death had not had this symptom.
Armstrong let us in on this information discreetly, telling us that the killings had stopped approximately two months ago. Now it seemed they had started again.
Two months ago? That was roughly the time we left London. And now upon our return they started up again. Coincidence? This body was at least a day or two old and we only got back today. If this was in some way connected to us how could the killer have known we were coming back?
With the pressing throng of onlookers Armstrong bade us depart. We did.
I returned home to Knightsbridge. JP, however, went to his laboratory above the Shaftesbury Inn and worked on the blood samples.
23rd April 1984
On our way up to the capital our discussions turned to our recent experiences.
JP announced his desire to return to the house where we had met High Collar Man upon the ether.
Although wary at first I was interested to see the place again.
Falmouth, intrigued and a little naïve, requested that he come along too and despite my warnings that our destination was nothing like the pleasure domes of Soho he still persisted.
We arrived in the grounds of the house this time and were confronted by odd bestial looking hounds, lots of them.
We made for the house smartly and once inside it didn't take long for HCM to appear. And then so did more of these dogs. There was a scuffle with the beasts.
I quickly erected a portal through the wall HCM also stepping through.
There were words exchanged and Bull, unused to the ways of the scope tried to fight HCM after the enigmatic figure who at first seemed to be helping us, had stabbed and killed JP's avatar.
HCM was far too quick for Bull, something the big man was not used to. All this came to a head though as the dogs appeared through the portal I had forgotten to close.
HCM began to fight them, indicating that we leave.
Bull 'returned' Falmouth to the real world and then turned the pistol on himself.
I was about to leave myself when a thought came to me.
I jumped in beside HCM, taking on the dogs. More and more were coming in. eventually as things started to get frantic HCM told me to go. Actually spoke, or rather hissed. There had been ample opportunity for him to take me down but he didn't. Why not?
With a salute I logged out.
Falmouth was full of it, talking like an excited school boy. He said it was most different to the pleasure domes he had previously visited.
I lied, telling him it was a similar concept, but instead of the hedonistic delights we were beset by difficult challenges that we had to overcome whilst solving clues along the way.
He seemed impressed.
***
that evening's entertainment was excellent; a good yarn well told. It was probably considered high-brow and I felt justified in not contacting Lacotte and inviting him along. I had the feeling he would have issued a stream of obscenities in my direction declining the invite anyway.
It was as we filtered out of the theatre (not too far from our new purchase) that we heard the scream.
I don't know what compelled us, but we all three; Bull, JP and myself cast each other a knowing glance and made wordlessly for the corner from which the sound had come.
There we discovered a young couple down the side alley, one Natty Miller, a working girl not in JP's employ, and Joseph Jefferies, an accountant whose details I ascertained before allowing him to make himself scarce. A married man he seemed more concerned about his own predicament – that of being discovered with a lower class tail like Natty than he did about what he and she had just discovered.
Their little tryst had made use of and old cart parked against the theatre wall as a support for Natty.
In the course of the coupling they had disturbed the cart and in doing so had caused the old tarpaulin covering the contents to slip, revealing the corpse of a young woman.
Red haired and delicate of features this woman, as JP very soon discovered, was yet another victim of the unknown killer that had taken the life of one of his girls. HCM was our prime suspect in that investigation.
Natty very quickly identified her as a working girl, new to the area.
Bull kept the crowds back while JP did more investigation.
I was, at this point, reluctant to get too involved. This was a case for the police, whom I could hear approaching with calls of “step aside,” and “coming through.”
As they bustled past me I reflected upon the situation as a whole.
I had been shocked to discover upon my return from the Great Metropolis that I had been named in the national press as the man who thwarted a plot against Britain by the Reich.
I wondered how my peers would take it, but also whether the enhanced reputation I gained would be harmful to me in my other pursuits. In fact the event had brought my name to the forefront of many conversations amongst the peerage but for all the right reasons.
So, did I want to expose myself to more attention? I was not sure so I opted to sit back and avoid being the centre of this episode.
Detective Sergeant Armstrong arrived once the bobbies had secured the area, shooing everyone away.
It was only Bull's credentials that had allowed us to remain near the crime scene thus far.
Thankfully Armstrong, with whom JP and myself had a particular bond with after the discovery of those murdered children upon a rooftop not too far from here, allowed JP to continue.
My friend took samples of blood and also discovered the victims blue tongue.
Armstrong informed us that there had been seven girls now, reported dead. This one was not the only one with a blue tongue. Those that were strangled to death had not had this symptom.
Armstrong let us in on this information discreetly, telling us that the killings had stopped approximately two months ago. Now it seemed they had started again.
Two months ago? That was roughly the time we left London. And now upon our return they started up again. Coincidence? This body was at least a day or two old and we only got back today. If this was in some way connected to us how could the killer have known we were coming back?
With the pressing throng of onlookers Armstrong bade us depart. We did.
I returned home to Knightsbridge. JP, however, went to his laboratory above the Shaftesbury Inn and worked on the blood samples.
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Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journals of an English Lord
24th April 1984
I had a late breakfast where Mrs Morris frostily offered me only the barest of meals.
It seems she is still unhappy with me.
When I left for Manchester my house had been burgled, Mr Morris had received a beating and Greywall, who had been my guest had been taken. It was a bit of a nightmare for all of my household.
Cleverly, whoever was behind it had timed the event for when Sam was out of the house.
Mrs Morris had been rather offish towards me since, despite my numerous apologies.
Thankfully Sam, who had been fuming at the crime, dealt with the police on the matter.
Taking my leave of my own household I took a cab to the Shaftesbury.
There old Ron told me That JP had gone to the University medical college to speak to someone. I figured that would be about the blood samples.
I took a cab in that direction and upon arrival was able to find out that he was speaking with a Professor Giles Ochram, Head of Forensic Sciences.
I met up with JP on his way back from his meeting. He informed me that he had placed the samples with Ochram's students to see what they could come up with.
Ingenious idea!
We had arranged the previous night to meet Bull at the Shaftesbury at lunchtime and so we headed that way once more.
On arriving Ron seemed annoyed, swearing at JP and telling him that he wasn't his “bloody receptionist!”
JP had two visitors awaiting him in the back room. I was instantly suspicious.
The first man was a Mr Donald Campbell, a working man from up north. He apologised for the intrusion but needed help to find his sister. JP didn't seem to flinch at this request, like it was normal for him.
I wondered if that was one of the reasons Pevensy had put me on to him in the first place. Did JP have, as Campbell mentioned, a talent for finding people?
Campbell told us that his sister, Mrs Jane Culver, had had suddenly stopped writing to him.
She had come down to London a month or so ago after a break up with her husband over an affair.
She had come don looking for work as a seamstress apparently.
Campbell gave us as much detail as he could, answered JP's questions, and those of myself, though mine were only asides and poignant pointers really, and then ha awkwardly left.
JP's second visitor was very different. He was better dressed, his clothes, although not opulent or especially fine, were of a more academic style and neater cut.
He introduced himself as Addison Parker, a free-lance writer and author, looking for inspiration and research on his new book. Apparently he was a crime writer, like Christie. He had heard on the grape vine that JP had been paying an interest in the murders, and having seen the article about out northern adventure thought we were idea muses.
I don't think JP was too keen to have him tagging along though, despite a promise of a cut in the royalties and access to his contacts.
**
JP seemed determined to find out about this Jane Culver woman, especially after he had seen her image.
She was very attractive.
Donald Campbell had mentioned that one letter had come via the Euston Hotel. JP decided that he should head straight there.
It seemed odd to me that JP should suddenly channel all of his energies into a search for a compete stranger, on behalf of a complete stranger, when he had other pressing matters closer to home. I would have thought discovering the identity of the man who killed one f his girls would be of highest priority.
However, there seemed an enthusiasm to JP and I wondered if the lack of progress in finding the murderer had necessitated interest in the direction of finding the missing woman.
“you have a reputation for finding people,” Campbell had said. Perhaps then, this was more familiar territory for JP and he needed the assurance a positive outcome would give.
Or, of course, he could merely be filling the time until the students got back to him with the results of their blood analysis. A distraction.
Still I was concerned for my reputation. On the cusp of setting up a.... what? Foundation? No, Society was more apt. The reputation I held in general was a good one, a solid foundation with which to build or little group. To tarnish it now, right at the beginning would be folly, and so, I found myself reluctant to get too involved in the investigation of a whore's death.
But here, now, as I watched JP gathering up his coat and hat I pondered the situation.
Certainly, helping look for a lost person was not a bad thing, although not the sort of thing your average aristocrat would normally indulge in.
And the murder of a whore? Well it wasn't just that now, was it. There had been many and the police were as baffled now as ever they had been with the Ripper.
It seems there had been no negative backlash from the peerage on my foiling a Reich plot. Perhaps a reputation as an active exponent of British Law and Order would be a positive thing.
I offered JP my assistance in the matter and so, in the early afternoon we took a cab to Euston Station.
It was fairly convenient as there was a Lostwithiel born baker not far from there who made the most glorious Cornish pasties and I am rather partial to the “minor's fare”.
At the hotel we came across Bernie Pailin, the doorman.
A rather likeable and friendly chap he seemed guarded about telling us anything about our missing woman.
However after proper introductions and the explanation of our reasons, he warmed to us.
He told us that Jane had gone to work for one of his old army colleagues, a Sir Addison Reeves, over at Burmansea Tailors.
We then went in to see the receptionist who JP was very friendly with. She wouldn't tell us anything, but both JP and myself independently came to the conclusion that she knew something.
JP came up with a plan to bribe her, and whilst he went off to find a local jewellers, I wandered over to the bakers to grab us some lunch.
Upon my return I saw a couple of thuggish brutes roughing up old Bernie, but he seemed to be standing his ground.
They left before I got near and handing the two pasties to Bernie and JP I wandered on (limping and making more use of the stick than I would care to admit) up the road, following the two men. Bernie had quickly mentioned as I passed that they were inquiring about Jane.
I followed them to the Dog and Duck, some distance away.
Quickly removing my coat and jacket, and using the grime of the alleyway behind the pub to dirty myself up a bit I became Jimmy Ambose.
Limping stickless into the pub I exaggerated my ailment, knocking into one of the two men as they stood at the bar.
Instantly aggressive, the man threatened to do me harm. Of course I played out the apologies and offered to supply fresh drinks for the pair of them, at which point they mellowed.
I introduced Jimmy and gave them some bull story about me being injured escaping the wrath of my wife as I leapt out of the bedroom window of another woman.
They found it amusing and soon Burt and Henry were quite talkative. It didn't take them long, after I let them know I was on the lookout for work, to start telling me about their current employment. They were working for some fellow down from Manchester who was looking for his unfaithful wife. Apparently he was putting quite a lot of effort into it.
I had another pint with them and departed saying I'd be back to see if the Manc bloke had some work for me.
Upon returning to JP and Bernie I was to discover that the husband had put pressure on the receptionist to give no information out about his wife, even giving an address to send people to.
As the address was not in Burmansea, we had a feeling it wasn't right.
Heading back to the Shaftesbury, JP stopped off to engage some thugs of his own, employing them to go to this address looking for the girl, suspecting that they would not find her there at all.
After dropping JP off I headed home looking for a peaceful night. I didn't get it though.
Sam was out with Mrs Morris and her daughter. According to the note Sam had written, Mrs Morris' mother had taken ill and so Sam had driven the two women over to Greenwich.
Mr Morris however, was in the kitchen trying to console a sobbing Paige.
On my arrival though my household's youngest servant quickly pulled herself together and in embarrassment ran from the room.
Mr Morris had no idea what the metter was and even though I asked her later she would not speak of it.
I wondered how long it would be before I was involved in something else!!
24th April 1984
I had a late breakfast where Mrs Morris frostily offered me only the barest of meals.
It seems she is still unhappy with me.
When I left for Manchester my house had been burgled, Mr Morris had received a beating and Greywall, who had been my guest had been taken. It was a bit of a nightmare for all of my household.
Cleverly, whoever was behind it had timed the event for when Sam was out of the house.
Mrs Morris had been rather offish towards me since, despite my numerous apologies.
Thankfully Sam, who had been fuming at the crime, dealt with the police on the matter.
Taking my leave of my own household I took a cab to the Shaftesbury.
There old Ron told me That JP had gone to the University medical college to speak to someone. I figured that would be about the blood samples.
I took a cab in that direction and upon arrival was able to find out that he was speaking with a Professor Giles Ochram, Head of Forensic Sciences.
I met up with JP on his way back from his meeting. He informed me that he had placed the samples with Ochram's students to see what they could come up with.
Ingenious idea!
We had arranged the previous night to meet Bull at the Shaftesbury at lunchtime and so we headed that way once more.
On arriving Ron seemed annoyed, swearing at JP and telling him that he wasn't his “bloody receptionist!”
JP had two visitors awaiting him in the back room. I was instantly suspicious.
The first man was a Mr Donald Campbell, a working man from up north. He apologised for the intrusion but needed help to find his sister. JP didn't seem to flinch at this request, like it was normal for him.
I wondered if that was one of the reasons Pevensy had put me on to him in the first place. Did JP have, as Campbell mentioned, a talent for finding people?
Campbell told us that his sister, Mrs Jane Culver, had had suddenly stopped writing to him.
She had come down to London a month or so ago after a break up with her husband over an affair.
She had come don looking for work as a seamstress apparently.
Campbell gave us as much detail as he could, answered JP's questions, and those of myself, though mine were only asides and poignant pointers really, and then ha awkwardly left.
JP's second visitor was very different. He was better dressed, his clothes, although not opulent or especially fine, were of a more academic style and neater cut.
He introduced himself as Addison Parker, a free-lance writer and author, looking for inspiration and research on his new book. Apparently he was a crime writer, like Christie. He had heard on the grape vine that JP had been paying an interest in the murders, and having seen the article about out northern adventure thought we were idea muses.
I don't think JP was too keen to have him tagging along though, despite a promise of a cut in the royalties and access to his contacts.
**
JP seemed determined to find out about this Jane Culver woman, especially after he had seen her image.
She was very attractive.
Donald Campbell had mentioned that one letter had come via the Euston Hotel. JP decided that he should head straight there.
It seemed odd to me that JP should suddenly channel all of his energies into a search for a compete stranger, on behalf of a complete stranger, when he had other pressing matters closer to home. I would have thought discovering the identity of the man who killed one f his girls would be of highest priority.
However, there seemed an enthusiasm to JP and I wondered if the lack of progress in finding the murderer had necessitated interest in the direction of finding the missing woman.
“you have a reputation for finding people,” Campbell had said. Perhaps then, this was more familiar territory for JP and he needed the assurance a positive outcome would give.
Or, of course, he could merely be filling the time until the students got back to him with the results of their blood analysis. A distraction.
Still I was concerned for my reputation. On the cusp of setting up a.... what? Foundation? No, Society was more apt. The reputation I held in general was a good one, a solid foundation with which to build or little group. To tarnish it now, right at the beginning would be folly, and so, I found myself reluctant to get too involved in the investigation of a whore's death.
But here, now, as I watched JP gathering up his coat and hat I pondered the situation.
Certainly, helping look for a lost person was not a bad thing, although not the sort of thing your average aristocrat would normally indulge in.
And the murder of a whore? Well it wasn't just that now, was it. There had been many and the police were as baffled now as ever they had been with the Ripper.
It seems there had been no negative backlash from the peerage on my foiling a Reich plot. Perhaps a reputation as an active exponent of British Law and Order would be a positive thing.
I offered JP my assistance in the matter and so, in the early afternoon we took a cab to Euston Station.
It was fairly convenient as there was a Lostwithiel born baker not far from there who made the most glorious Cornish pasties and I am rather partial to the “minor's fare”.
At the hotel we came across Bernie Pailin, the doorman.
A rather likeable and friendly chap he seemed guarded about telling us anything about our missing woman.
However after proper introductions and the explanation of our reasons, he warmed to us.
He told us that Jane had gone to work for one of his old army colleagues, a Sir Addison Reeves, over at Burmansea Tailors.
We then went in to see the receptionist who JP was very friendly with. She wouldn't tell us anything, but both JP and myself independently came to the conclusion that she knew something.
JP came up with a plan to bribe her, and whilst he went off to find a local jewellers, I wandered over to the bakers to grab us some lunch.
Upon my return I saw a couple of thuggish brutes roughing up old Bernie, but he seemed to be standing his ground.
They left before I got near and handing the two pasties to Bernie and JP I wandered on (limping and making more use of the stick than I would care to admit) up the road, following the two men. Bernie had quickly mentioned as I passed that they were inquiring about Jane.
I followed them to the Dog and Duck, some distance away.
Quickly removing my coat and jacket, and using the grime of the alleyway behind the pub to dirty myself up a bit I became Jimmy Ambose.
Limping stickless into the pub I exaggerated my ailment, knocking into one of the two men as they stood at the bar.
Instantly aggressive, the man threatened to do me harm. Of course I played out the apologies and offered to supply fresh drinks for the pair of them, at which point they mellowed.
I introduced Jimmy and gave them some bull story about me being injured escaping the wrath of my wife as I leapt out of the bedroom window of another woman.
They found it amusing and soon Burt and Henry were quite talkative. It didn't take them long, after I let them know I was on the lookout for work, to start telling me about their current employment. They were working for some fellow down from Manchester who was looking for his unfaithful wife. Apparently he was putting quite a lot of effort into it.
I had another pint with them and departed saying I'd be back to see if the Manc bloke had some work for me.
Upon returning to JP and Bernie I was to discover that the husband had put pressure on the receptionist to give no information out about his wife, even giving an address to send people to.
As the address was not in Burmansea, we had a feeling it wasn't right.
Heading back to the Shaftesbury, JP stopped off to engage some thugs of his own, employing them to go to this address looking for the girl, suspecting that they would not find her there at all.
After dropping JP off I headed home looking for a peaceful night. I didn't get it though.
Sam was out with Mrs Morris and her daughter. According to the note Sam had written, Mrs Morris' mother had taken ill and so Sam had driven the two women over to Greenwich.
Mr Morris however, was in the kitchen trying to console a sobbing Paige.
On my arrival though my household's youngest servant quickly pulled herself together and in embarrassment ran from the room.
Mr Morris had no idea what the metter was and even though I asked her later she would not speak of it.
I wondered how long it would be before I was involved in something else!!
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 591
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
Journals of an English Lord
25th April 1984
I took a cab to Berman's Tailors with JP and Bull in the morning.
The place looked as though it could do with some investment.
Inside however the place was a hive of industry. We were greeted by a cheerful young lady working a weaving machine. The girl, whose name was Amy, directed us towards the office at the rear.
There we met with Sir Addison Reeves. He was a portly fellow with a rather pleasant nature and sporting and old and battered cybernaughtic leg. Apparently he lost it in one of the Crimean wars.
Bull took rather a shine to the old warhorse, even offering to buy the man a new leg. He, of course, refused.
Reeves informed us that Jane, now going by the name of Jennifer Coyle had not stayed with the factory long – just three days. She had been boarding with Mrs McCord, a fellow worker, who brought in a letter to say she would not be coming back.
Mrs McCord's husband had apparently set her up with a new job.
We arranged to visit Mr and Mrs McCord at their home next evening to discuss with him the details.
Having few leads we used the afternoon to pick up the keys and papers for our newly purchased theatre.
It was cold and must inside and many of the amenities were old fashioned. And the mouldy, peeling decor?
Once it was agreed on how the theatre would be divided up I set about making calls to my betters in the world of interior design.
I suppose I ought to have contacted Elizabeth. She’d be perfect for this kind of thing. Probably be good to check on JP’s designs too!
It was in the late afternoon that we received news from the medical university. The students had come up with the results on the blood samples JP had supplied.
We headed there immediately.
I listened intently to the technical babbled between JP, the professor and his senior student. It all got a bit too technical for me.
It boiled down to the fact that there was an odd and very rare plant extract within the blood. So rare that they were unable to establish an origin.
I asked if it were poison made from this plant, to which they replied that it was too elaborate to be poison. It was also very detectable.
They were unable to give us any further specifics.
We returned to the Shaftsbury Inn to retire for the evening.
25th April 1984
I took a cab to Berman's Tailors with JP and Bull in the morning.
The place looked as though it could do with some investment.
Inside however the place was a hive of industry. We were greeted by a cheerful young lady working a weaving machine. The girl, whose name was Amy, directed us towards the office at the rear.
There we met with Sir Addison Reeves. He was a portly fellow with a rather pleasant nature and sporting and old and battered cybernaughtic leg. Apparently he lost it in one of the Crimean wars.
Bull took rather a shine to the old warhorse, even offering to buy the man a new leg. He, of course, refused.
Reeves informed us that Jane, now going by the name of Jennifer Coyle had not stayed with the factory long – just three days. She had been boarding with Mrs McCord, a fellow worker, who brought in a letter to say she would not be coming back.
Mrs McCord's husband had apparently set her up with a new job.
We arranged to visit Mr and Mrs McCord at their home next evening to discuss with him the details.
Having few leads we used the afternoon to pick up the keys and papers for our newly purchased theatre.
It was cold and must inside and many of the amenities were old fashioned. And the mouldy, peeling decor?
Once it was agreed on how the theatre would be divided up I set about making calls to my betters in the world of interior design.
I suppose I ought to have contacted Elizabeth. She’d be perfect for this kind of thing. Probably be good to check on JP’s designs too!
It was in the late afternoon that we received news from the medical university. The students had come up with the results on the blood samples JP had supplied.
We headed there immediately.
I listened intently to the technical babbled between JP, the professor and his senior student. It all got a bit too technical for me.
It boiled down to the fact that there was an odd and very rare plant extract within the blood. So rare that they were unable to establish an origin.
I asked if it were poison made from this plant, to which they replied that it was too elaborate to be poison. It was also very detectable.
They were unable to give us any further specifics.
We returned to the Shaftsbury Inn to retire for the evening.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 591
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Chronicles of Sebastian J. Reynolds
26th April 1984
In the morning we decided to contact Scotland Yard with our findings in the hope that their Detective Armstrong might be able to use this new information.
We were taken to the office of Inspector Norrington. The manacled policeman was pleasantly surprised to see us as he had intended to look us up this day also.
His reasoning, it turned out, was to enlist our services in his investigation, as we were already doing this ourselves anyway.
He handed us papers, already drawn up, that officially declared us as assisting the constabulary.
From our conversation it seemed that he believed us to be able to speak to people at both ends of the social ladder that he might otherwise have difficulty in gaining access to, at least not without a lot of paperwork. Also our methods did not strictly have to adhere to the bounds of the law!
That aside, Norrington took us into his confidence and we shared what information we could with him, also asking for his aid in the search for Jane.
From the inspector we gleaned that there had been a rash of killings that stopped a month ago, they have now started again.
There have been, contrary to the press reports, 12 murders. The first two of which were men.
Then until a couple of months ago, the victims were all working girls. The more recent victims however were possibly not prostitutes.
Dr Oscar Sullivan, the coroner, had the details on each of the victims and their autopsy reports.
It was late in the afternoon and too close to six in the evening for us to go off and do anything else. JP was called away – some issue with his girls needed sorting.
So it was that after a hearty meal at the Savoy, Bull and I arrived at the home of Mr and Mrs McCord.
Bull had purchased some rather fine gifts for the couple in way of thanks for their assistance.
Peter McCord gave us the following tale:
At the Three Lions pub down in the docks area where McCord sometimes went for a pint or two there was a fellow going by the name of Billy Carver. He was not a regular, but did tout for working girls in many of the local drinking houses. He was a kind of seedy talent scout.
This time however he was asking around for anyone who might want to become a model for a legitimate painter. This being a more respectable task and Jenny (as Jane was calling herself) being a very attractive woman, Peter took the proposal home to her. She jumped at the chance, moving out after just a week at the McCord’s. That was some four days ago.
We left the McCord’s with very little additional information, however, Billy Carver seemed to be our next port of call in that case.
It was already late, and as we were passing, Bull and I decided on visiting St Arthur’s Mortuary at St Arthur’s Hospital to see Dr Sullivan.
There we gleaned further useful information:
1. There was a chemical in the blood that caused massive and painful muscle spasms.
2. Some of the bodies had wax beneath their nails.
3. Cassandra, the woman we discovered a few days back was not a working girl as her maidenhead was still intact.
I had an idea.
With Cassandra’s body lain on her gurney, and I on another beside her, I had my portable etherscope point set up.
Sullivan seemed put out, and both Bull and JP who had joined us outside the hospital, were rather perturbed, but non-the-less I carried on, sure of my results
Once I inserted the cable into my cybernaughtic scope-jack the world around me disappeared.
Normally one would formulate a destination in one’s mind but this time I refrained, like I had when I contacted Bennett.
I let my mind drift to my current surroundings. A huge black wall of marble appeared upon which were inscribed the “in Memory to Those That Tread Through The Shady Glen.”
Nothing nor anyone else appeared.
I felt sure they would.
Then I felt embarrassed.
Perhaps I didn’t have the ability to contact the dead? But I had done it before!
Hadn’t I?
I began to doubt myself.
Jacking out, I remember very quickly packing my things away and not saying much to the others.
I decided to go home for the night.
In the morning we decided to contact Scotland Yard with our findings in the hope that their Detective Armstrong might be able to use this new information.
We were taken to the office of Inspector Norrington. The manacled policeman was pleasantly surprised to see us as he had intended to look us up this day also.
His reasoning, it turned out, was to enlist our services in his investigation, as we were already doing this ourselves anyway.
He handed us papers, already drawn up, that officially declared us as assisting the constabulary.
From our conversation it seemed that he believed us to be able to speak to people at both ends of the social ladder that he might otherwise have difficulty in gaining access to, at least not without a lot of paperwork. Also our methods did not strictly have to adhere to the bounds of the law!
That aside, Norrington took us into his confidence and we shared what information we could with him, also asking for his aid in the search for Jane.
From the inspector we gleaned that there had been a rash of killings that stopped a month ago, they have now started again.
There have been, contrary to the press reports, 12 murders. The first two of which were men.
Then until a couple of months ago, the victims were all working girls. The more recent victims however were possibly not prostitutes.
Dr Oscar Sullivan, the coroner, had the details on each of the victims and their autopsy reports.
It was late in the afternoon and too close to six in the evening for us to go off and do anything else. JP was called away – some issue with his girls needed sorting.
So it was that after a hearty meal at the Savoy, Bull and I arrived at the home of Mr and Mrs McCord.
Bull had purchased some rather fine gifts for the couple in way of thanks for their assistance.
Peter McCord gave us the following tale:
At the Three Lions pub down in the docks area where McCord sometimes went for a pint or two there was a fellow going by the name of Billy Carver. He was not a regular, but did tout for working girls in many of the local drinking houses. He was a kind of seedy talent scout.
This time however he was asking around for anyone who might want to become a model for a legitimate painter. This being a more respectable task and Jenny (as Jane was calling herself) being a very attractive woman, Peter took the proposal home to her. She jumped at the chance, moving out after just a week at the McCord’s. That was some four days ago.
We left the McCord’s with very little additional information, however, Billy Carver seemed to be our next port of call in that case.
It was already late, and as we were passing, Bull and I decided on visiting St Arthur’s Mortuary at St Arthur’s Hospital to see Dr Sullivan.
There we gleaned further useful information:
1. There was a chemical in the blood that caused massive and painful muscle spasms.
2. Some of the bodies had wax beneath their nails.
3. Cassandra, the woman we discovered a few days back was not a working girl as her maidenhead was still intact.
I had an idea.
With Cassandra’s body lain on her gurney, and I on another beside her, I had my portable etherscope point set up.
Sullivan seemed put out, and both Bull and JP who had joined us outside the hospital, were rather perturbed, but non-the-less I carried on, sure of my results
Once I inserted the cable into my cybernaughtic scope-jack the world around me disappeared.
Normally one would formulate a destination in one’s mind but this time I refrained, like I had when I contacted Bennett.
I let my mind drift to my current surroundings. A huge black wall of marble appeared upon which were inscribed the “in Memory to Those That Tread Through The Shady Glen.”
Nothing nor anyone else appeared.
I felt sure they would.
Then I felt embarrassed.
Perhaps I didn’t have the ability to contact the dead? But I had done it before!
Hadn’t I?
I began to doubt myself.
Jacking out, I remember very quickly packing my things away and not saying much to the others.
I decided to go home for the night.