Etherium

[Keeper]

London, Junction of Butler Street and Green Street, Bethnal Green, 1869.

A man stood leaning up against a shop door, the peak of his newsboy cap pulled down to shade his eyes from the gas lamp that illuminated the street corner.
Hidden in the dark beneath the cap's peak, the man's eyes watched the front of the Queen's Arms public house. He was far enough away from the pub that those coming and going would pay him no heed, yet close enough to make out their faces.
He pulled a watch on its chain from his trouser pocket, glanced at the time and huffed. It was quarter past eight at night.

Inside the Queen's Arms, the bar was busy, packed with locals who flocked here after a long day's graft in the stream saw-mill or on the rail sidings or one of a hundred occupations in the area.
There were even some of the doctors and orderlies and other staff from the local hospital that would venture in for a drink or two with colleagues before heading home.
The bar itself was an L shape and occupied the corner opposite the door.
A fireplace featured in the wall that adjoined the neighbouring property to its right, while an old piano sat against the wall opposite. A man who seemed even older than the aging instrument sat tinkling the ivory's and singing old local songs while accompanied by a man on a harpsichord.
A group had gathered around then singing along boisterously and sloshing their beers as they performed an attempt at dancing along to the music, which in essence, broke down to a rhythmic jumping.
It was loud, smokey and smelled of old beer.

[Keeper]

Although predominantly men, there were several women here too, some older, some younger, some here to socialise, some just spending their ‘old man’s’ hard earned cash, and some here to earn cash the ‘old fashioned’ way.
One young woman with dark hair piled neatly atop her head and pinned in place, and falling down one side to her shoulder, as was the fashion, was seated at a table near the fireplace.
Her dress was expensive, yet looked a little worn in places, as though she had either bought it a long time ago, or had bought it second-hand.
She was an attractive young lady and had a crowd of suitors around her, vying for her attention.
She giggled and laughed and smiled and gave little flirtatious glances and touched, playing her audience well.
There was a sudden high pitched squeal in her left ear, the one covered by the fall of her hair.
“Ow!” she yelped.
“Half-past eight,” a voice crackled in place of the squeal. “He’s on his way. Nothing, if not punctual, this one!”
“Are you quite alright?” William Bellingham asked sporting a look of genuine concern but relishing the opportunity to touch her shoulder.
She laughed, “Oh yes! It’s rather silly really, but I think I may have tied my corset a little too tight this evening.”
He grinned at her, leaned closer and whispered, “Perhaps I can help loosen it for you, later?”
“Why, Mister Bellingham! How very forward of you!”
Her eyes flickered towards the door as a well-dressed man entered. He did so without flair or flamboyance or any action to draw attention to himself but even so, the music faltered and voices dropped off to silence.
A smile from him was all that was needed to set everyone back in motion.
“Excuse me Mr. Bellingham, but o have business with Monsieur Lotito,” the young woman said with a smile.
Although crestfallen, Bellingham smiled and nodded. “Of course!” he said.

[Keeper]

“Monsieur Lotito!” the young woman greeted the Frenchman by name as she hooked her arm around his.
The Frenchman looked surprised. “I am sorry, mademoiselle, but who might you be?”
She gave him a beaming smile revealing perfect teeth. “Oh, Monsieur Lotito, you break a young lady’s heart! My name is Samantha Brockelsby, we met last weekend and you said you liked my ruby earrings but though sapphires would set off my eyes better!”
His eyes widened. “Of course! Now I remember you!” he smiled back at her, his own perfect teeth on display.
“I followed your advice,” Samantha said as she turned her head to show Lotito the large blue gemstone dangling from her ear.
He took the gemstone delicately in his fingers but she noticed his eyes linger on the soft lines of his neck.
“You take a risk wearing those in Bethnal Green, madam.”
“Au contraire, monsieur, for I have you to protect me.”
“Indeed!” Lotito smirked. “Perhaps I can escort you somewhere quieter, where my protection will better suit such expensive taste?”
Samantha giggled.

[Keeper]

Lotito led Samantha out of the pub and crossed the street.
“That was quick” the crackly voice in her ear commented but she ignored it.
Lotito led Samantha through several streets, making small talk all the way, until they Reached Meath Gardens, a small gree park covered with dark trees.
“Don’t worry, mademoiselle, you will be quite safe with me!” Lotito said upon seeing the young woman’s concern.
She smiled and allowed him to lead her on.
About halfway through, Lotito stopped and pulled Samantha close.
“I am glad to have bumped into you again, ma cherie. You were so… delicious on our last encounter!”
He smiled again, this time revealing long canine teeth.
Samantha pulled back, “No! Please, not this!” she panicked.
“Oh, don’t struggle, ma cherie, this will be the most exquisite night of your life!”
“Well, that’s a little bit creepy!” a male voice commented from the darkness behind him.
Lotito whipped his head around and glared at the interloper.
it was just a man, scruffy working class clothing, newsboy cap. Nothing particularly noteworthy, and yet there was something about the handsome man that Lotito found himself drawn to.
He shook his head clear. “Be gone! This is none of your concern Monsieur! This will not turn out well for you, I can assure you.”
The new man grimaced and gave a little shrug. “If it is all the same to you, old boy, I’d prefer you not to molest Miss Brockelsby!”
The man suddenly produced a weapon from behind his back that looked like a rifle with a strange cone-like dish at the muzzle.
Lotito suddenly felt himself hit by pulse after pulse, like strong waves crashing into him. he seemed to lose control of his limbs and crumpled to the ground paralised.
he tried to speak, to hurl curses at the man but the words came out as undefinable nonsense.
The man came forward, kneeling beside the prone Lotito and withdrew a needle and syringe from his pocket.
He unbuttoned Lotito’s sleeve and stuck the needle into the Frenchman’s arm.
Taking a syringe full of blood, he took a phial from Samantha and trnsferred the blood to it.
putting the syringe away, he then placed the phial into a steel tube and slipped it into his coat.
“Thank you for your cooperation, old boy!” the newcomer said, patting the vampire on the cheek mockingly.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said to Samantha

[Keeper]

The two walked quickly towards the south gate.
Suddenly something hit the man from behind, sending him flying forwards where he rolled into the darkness.
“Gabe!” Samantha called out in concern.
She turned to see Lotito, all heavy brow and teeth.
“Bich!” the Frenchman cursed. “By the time I have finished with you tonight you will regret ever waking this morning!”
He swung his hand out wide, stiking Samantha hard across the face.
She fell to her knees.
Lotito closed on her to strike again but she sprang to her feet and plunged a dagger into his shoulder.
The Frenchman grimmanced but gave no further reaction.
“Hey!” Gabriel Sabbath growled.
This time Lotito turned blindingly fast, lashing out but stuck something solid. it flared a blueish white where he had stuck it.
Then the strange weapon fired again, as noiselessly as it had the first time.
Once more the vampire lost control of his legs and fell to the floor.
Sabbath closed in on him. To the vampire he looked almost blurred, like there was some sort of distortion between them.
Sabbath fired again, and then a third time. He went to fire a fourth shot, but nothing happened.
The Englishmen looked at the gun disappointedly.
“I thought Cole said we’d get at least ten shots out of this thing?”
“Obviously not!” Brockelsby shrugged. “Come on, lets go, my lord. bit of luck he’ll stay down for a while this time.”

[Keeper]

The two found an entrance to the underground and caught a tube train to Greenwich. From there he led Samantha south to a tall gothic style house that stood alone, surrounded by fields.

"Where the hell are we going?" "Samantha groaned.
"Home!" Gabriel replied.

"So who the hell lives here?"

Gabriel glanced over to the house." No idea. Now, keep the noise down."
Samantha sighed heavily "We aren't meant to be here, are we?"
Sabbath stopped and turned to face her.
"It's not that we aren't supposed to be here, in the purest sense," he said quietly.

"Gabriel!" Samantha warned.
"Alright, keep your hair on!" Sabbath relented. "I have no idea who lives here now, but this was the home of the Phillips family, quite prominent forty or fifty years ago."

"Right", "Samantha said, still none the wiser.

"They were Members of the Imperial Hermetic Order, Mage so to speak, in the purest sense. They were responsible for much of the Realms early Hermetic research into ether doorways and such. As it happens, they had a few private portals of their own. Although their main portals were destroyed, I forget what the cause was, one apparently still remains."
Sabbath led her towards an orchard near the rear of the property.
Beneath the wide boughs of the apple trees was the fallen trunk of an oak tree, the wood hardened with an almost stone-like property despite its exposure to the elements.

He crouched low and crawled into the dark hollow end of the trunk.
"Where the hell are you going?" Samantha asked exasperated.
"To a so-called Fey door."
"Through there?"
"Yes, through there."

"It'll ruin my dress," Samantha complained.
"So take it off!" Sabbath quipped.
"You bloody wish!" Samantha said.
Sabbath didn't have to look at her, he could feel the withering look burning into the back of his skull. He grinned and pressed on through the huge trunk.

Reaching a point that seemed they could go no further he took out a small box of matches and lit one. In the light he could just about make out the carvings on the inside. They were symbols, Fey runes which he touched in a specific order.
Both of them felt their hair stand on end.

"What the hell is that?" Samantha asked in a whisper.

"The threshold," Sabbath explained. "You know, what you get in front of a door!"
"OW!" he hissed as he received a very hard thump to his posterior.
A dog started barking in the darkness behind them. Not just the odd bark, but an incessant cacophony, like a crazed beast.

Samantha, not too far inside the trunk, had turned to look back in the direction of the noise. She saw lights coming on in the distance. The dog had awoken somebody.

"Gabriel, whatever you are planning, you need to do it now," she invited.
"It's done! Come on,"Sabbath said as he crawled forward.

It felt as though he was crawling into a lake of frigid water, the cold so much so that it almost felt like burning.

The sensation crept over his whole body as he crawled forward until he was fully immersed.

He suddenly felt like he couldn't breath but continued on regardless.

Eventually after many long seconds that felt like minutes, he emerged from the deep chill into relative warmth, and the inside of a tree trunk. He could see light at the end, day time shining its warmth onto the world. As he crawled out, he found himself in a shallow ravine, the aged twisted trunk of some ancient fallen tree behind him. There was a distressed cry from within and a lot of gasping for air.

"Oh my god! That was awful. You could have warned me, you jerk!" Brockelsby chided him. She hit him again, this time on the shoulder.
"Hey! I wasn't to know!"

"Look at the state of my dress,it's absolutely ruined," she stamped her feet, and pouted at Sabbath.

Sabbath, in loose, dirty working clothes covered in dirt and mulch himself looked his best friend up down. Her dress was indeed heavily soiled. She had bits of twig caught in both the fabric of the dress and her hair.
His grin was hard to hide.
"This isn't funny Gabe," she pouted again.
"What isn't? The ruined dress or you having a tantrum? Because quite frankly I find both hilarious!"
He knew he'd crossed the line but it was too late.

The right hook came in quick and despite his fast reaction he wasn't able to avoid it. Her fist hit his jaw hard, whipping his head sideways.

"Arsehole!" she yelled and leapt at him. Sabbath got his hands up but Samantha kept coming at him, raining punches which he barely managed to block.
"Bloody hell, Sam!" Sabbath said dodging to his left.
She followed, grabbing his collar. They stumbled and fell together, her on top of him.

Her fist came back and lashed in.
Sabbath just about blocked the punch and thought how much that would have hurt if it has connected.

He grabbed the front of her dress and heaved her to his side and with her still holding onto him they tumbled down a bank until Sabbath crashed into the a gnarled trunk of a twisted tree.

They stopped fighting, Samantha Brockelsby above Sabbath, knees either side of his waist, her face inches from his, eyes locked.
Sabbath released her dress, holding his hands out to his side in submission.

She leaned closer, he could feel her breath on his cheek. Then something caught Samantha's attention and her eyes widened as she pulled away.

Following her gaze, Sabbath tensed as be saw the vast open space before him and the sheer drop beneath them.

"Christ!" "Sabbath blasphemed as both be and Samantha scrambled away from the edge. "That was close!"
"In more ways than one!" "Brockelsby commented and Sabbath caught the embarrassed look.
He grinned. "One outcome wouldn't have been
so bad. Weird, but not bad!"
"Think I might have preferred falling off the cliff!" Sam said.

Sabbath put his hands to his chest as though mortally wounded.
"Sorry," Brockelsby said after a moment, "You know, for going all crazy-lady on you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, fey blood and all that."
He stood up and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet.

Sam looked up to the hollow truck where they had emerged. "What an awful place to put a doorway!
Where the hell are we?"

"Dover!" Sabbath said pointing to the chalky material of the cliff face. "Come on let's go home."

[Keeper]

Princess Street, Manchester, The Pennyrille Club.

The tram shook and rattled as it crossed the points at St. Peter's Square, wheels squeaking against the rails, eased its way around the sweeping bend into Princess street, with the imposing City Council building on its left.
"This is us," Sabbath said as he reached up and pulled the chord above his head.
A bell chimed in the driver's cab and the tram began to slow as it approached the Princess Street stop.

The tram hissed to a standstill, great gouts of steam jetting out to relieve the pressure in the ether powered boilers.
Gabriel Sabbath got to his feet before the tram car stopped and was followed out onto the flagstone pavement by Samantha.

Both wore fresh clothes, he in a smart suit, top hat, but he forwent the obligatory tie in favour of a royal blue cravat.
She looked elegant, her hair neatly and fashionably bundled atop her head, a smart deep purple dress with a bolero jacket. Her heeled boots clicked on the flagstones as she alighted the tram.

Samantha gave a little cry of surprise as she stepped onto the pavement and a gust of wind threatened to blow off the little hat she wore.

"Weather's turning," Sabbath stated flatly.
"Hmm, thanks for that pearl of wisdom," Samantha quipped.
Sabbath cocked an eyebrow and sighed loudly. "I'm pretty sure Sebastian doesn't get this kind of lip from his Brockelsby."
"No, probably not, but then that would be because my darling brother is employed by Reynolds as his batman, and there is a certain decorum and respect expected from both employer and employee. Plus, he's a viscount and you're only a baron," she added the last, not because it was an issue to her but because she knew it would grate on him.
Lord Gabriel Sabbath ignored the comment that he knew was meant to wind him and he hated to admit that it did annoy him.
To react to Samantha's jibe would be to admit it had got under his skin but he refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Come on," he said as he led her across the road, avoiding ether cars and horse drawn wagons alike, and led her up Cooper Street.

Sabbath watched the numbers above the doors decrease and finding the one he wanted he was confronted by a studded oak door with a wall plaque that read. "Pennyville Club. Gentlemen only.
"Ah, it seems you are superfluous to my requirement Miss Brockelsby."
"You have got to be kidding me!" Samantha grumbled.
"Sorry Sam, I had no idea, genuinely."
Samantha shot her friend a look and turned away from the door. On the other side of the street was a small cafe.

"I'll be there then, drinking strong tea and looking like a sad old spinster. But don't worry about me, she pouted.

Exasperated, Sabbath turned away and opened the door.

Inside was plush, even for a reception room. There was just a single table with a leather bound book, open with names and dates of visitors entered upon the pages.
Beside the table stood the doorman, resplendent in his long red coat with gold embroidered cuffs and collar and shoes that were shined to a minor finish.

"Commander Sabbath?" the dooman, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, was peering at Sabbath curiously.
It took a moment for Sabbath to sort through his memories of his time in the Fleet Air Arm. "Corporal Fanning!" Sabbath eventually dragged out from the depths. "Bloody hell, man! You're
looking well!"
"Thank you, sir. You too."
Then Fanning seemed to remember where he was. "Eh, right sir, may I ask what brings you to the Pennyville Club?"
"I have a meeting with Messers Cole and Tilsbury."
"Ah yes, Mr. Cole is a well known member, sir. Normally I would invite members to greet their guests here, however, given the circumstances I shall escort you through to the Laciter Suite myself, you know,as eh well…"
"Cole and I are acquaintances, Corporal, I understand."

Fanning led Sabbath through a door and up some stairs into the club.
Like downstairs, the room was plush and well furnished. Chairs were arranged around tables in little clusters, far enough apart that the quiet conversations of each cluster could not be overheard by those adjacent to them.
Some of the chairs were occupied by well dressed gentlemen, some of whom looked up in interest assessing the newcorer, others remained fixed upon their broad sheets, or were in fact uninterested in the tall, broad-shouldered figure that strode confidently through their midst.
Fanning escorted Sabbath up more stairs, along corridors and eventually back down even more stairs.
"Mr Cole came in the back way," Fanning commented.
Sabbath had guessed they must be somewhere near the back of the building.

Eventually the doorman opened one side of a set of double doors and stepped through.

"Your guest has arrived, Mr Cole, " Fanning announced, and stepped aside to allow Sabbath through.
"Thank you, Fanning," Sabbath said, slipping a ginae into the doorman's palm.
Fanning instantly snapped to attention, giving Sabbath a crisp salute, which Sabbath returned.
"Commander," Fanning nodded and departed.

"Gabriel!" Henry Cole said in fond greeting.
Henry Cole was a man in his late fifties with a magnificent moustache that swirled up at the tips. Both the hair upon his head and upon his face was a bright white like show, which made his silvey blue eyes even more piercing. That however, was not the most striking part of Cole's appearance.

As Cole moved towards Sabbath with his hand outstretched, he was accompanied by mechanical chunks and clangs and the hiss of an ether-vent.

Cole's entire lower body had been replaced by a large ether-powered wheelchair, the result of losing most of himself in an explosion caused by
a failed experiment.
The failure however had not put Cole off his work. Cole was what the common masses. referred to as a 'mad scientist'.
"How was the neuro-neutralizer?" Cole asked excitedly
"The what?"
"The rifle! How did it work?"
"Yes, well, it did what you said, but the duration was short-lived. I had to unload the entire thing into that bloody creature. And I didn't get anywhere near the number of shots you estimated."
Cole looked crestfallen
"Oh my, that is disappointing," he said.
Sabbath clapped him on the shoulder. "Henry, don't worrry it was very effective, just some minor tweaks."
With that, Sabbath side-stepped Cole's contraption and offered the other gentleman within the room his hand.
"You must be Tilbury?"

"Tilsbury," the man corrected. "Augustus Tilsbury. A pleasure to meet you Lord Sabbath." Tilsbury said enthusiastically.
Cole spun around in his you Conveyor. "Bloody hell, man! I do apologise for not introducing you!"

Sabbath shrugged it off.
"So, may I ask if you were successful in procuring a sample?" Tilsbury asked, his voice low.
Sabbath looked to Cole who nodded. "It's okay Gabe, Mr. Tilsbury here is the client."
Relaxing somewhat, Sabbath nodded. "I did, would you like to see it?" He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the steel tube containing the phial of blood and began unscrewing the cap.
"Woah!" Tisbury almost screamed. "Don't open it!"
Sabbath had jumped back at the ferociousness of Tilsbury's warning.

At that same moment the door to the outer balcony burst open and a figure leapt in, brandishing a pistol in each hand.

[Keeper]

Tilsbury yelled and scrambled away from the figure.
"Woah, woah, woah!" Cole yelled, his hands up and his conveyor clanking noisily as it reversed away from the balcony doors and Sabbath.
"Jesus Christ!" Cole hissed. "Samantha, what the hell are you doing?"
Samantha Brockelsby's hands remained steady, the dark revolvers aimed at both Cole and Tilsbury.
"Sam! Stand down," Sabbath said.
She glared at him for a moment then lowered the guns.
"What? What is going on here?" Tilsbury fumed. "Sorry, Gentlemen," Sabbath and with hands raised in acquiescence. Force of habit. I always have Sam back me up. Thank you, Sam.
"Alright, well, everything is fine, no problems here," Cole said with relief.
"And might I add, it is very lovely to see you again, Miss Brockesby," Cole added with a warm smile.
"And you, Henry. Sorry about the dramatic entrance."
"Well, no harm done," Cole said. "Augustus, you seemed rather keen that Lord Sabbath not open that tube?"
Recovering his composure, Tilsbury walked to the windows and pulled across the heavy curtains, until the room was in almost complete darkness. He turned on the lights.
"May I?" he asked Sabbath and took the offered tube.
"This blood is rather volatile, when subjected to the light of the sun," Tilsbury explained.
He took a dish from the table, unstopped the phial and allowed a single drop to land on the plate.
He replaced the stopper and slipped the tube into his pocket.

"Observe," Tilsbury said enthusiastically.
Carrying the plate over to a window he pulled buck the curtain, bathing the room in daylight once more.
All eyes were fixed on the little red dot of blood in the centre of the plate.
The liquid began to bubble and within a matter of seconds burst into flame.
The small fire was quite aggressive until all traces of the blood had been consumed. All that remained was a fine coating of ash.
"Christ!" Sabbath commented.
"Indeed," Tilsbury agreed. "At least that proves it is genuine stuff."
He popped the plate down and opened the rest of the curtains.
"Excuse me," Samantha said quizzically, "But what exactly do you want with blood that bursts into flame?"

Now Tilstury's face seemed to light up and he laughed.
"Well, my dear, contrary to what you seem to be thinking, the flaming blood is not what I want. No, you see, that blood has a far more potent use. Spirit blood from Vampires contain incredible healing properties. Just a few drops can heal almost mortal wounds."
"Really?" Sabbath's interest was now piqued.
"Yes," Tilsbury said. "But drinking it neat like this has side-effects, such as being susceptible to the vampire's suggestions, to the point where it can almost control you. Plus there's the whole bursting into flames thing."
"Well my research has allowed me to develop a serum that loses those undesirable traits and only mildly diminishes the healing properties."
The three other people in the room looked impressed.
"In fact, your cousin, Lord Reynolds often makes use of my concoction, Lord Sabbath."
"Sebastian?" Sabbath frowned and glanced at Samantha, who merely shrugged at him.
"What would that…" Sabbath caught himself from saying something rude, "What would the erstwhile Viscount need with some magical heating elixir?"

Tilsbury looked uncomfortable as he realised he may have spoken out of turn.
"Probably some Polo injury!" Samantha sneered, Catching Gabriel's eye and silencing him from further comment.
"Yes, probably, indeed," Tilsbury adjusted his chair and sat down.
"Moving on," Sabbath said at last, "there is now the small matter of payment?"
"Indeed there is," Cole said firmly.
Sabbath frowned at Cole, there was something in the man's demeanour that suggested things weren't exactly as agreed and Cole was nervous about broaching the subject.
"Problem?" Sabbath prompted.
"Well, yes, "Cole said sheepishly.
"My fault," Tilsbury put in and seemed be fidgeting nervously,
"What the bloody hell is the matter, man?" Sabbath growled.
"Your payment, Lord Sabbath, Unfortunately we, I, have fallen short on the agreed amount."

Sabbath tensed, feeling anger rise within him. "How much short?"
"Well," Cole put in "The amount agreed would have allowed for one thousand rounds of ammunition. However, Tilsbury can only now supply enough for one hundred rounds."
"That's a tenth of what we agreed," Brockelsby said, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"What happened to my other nine-tenths?"
"There were complications in extracting the material. Some was used to cover the extraction team's escape, and some destroyed by accident," Tilsbury's voice trailed off.
"And?" "Sabbath demanded, a red glow firing behind his eyes and fists balling.
"And my man, upon realising what he was dealing with, held on to half of what was left."
"Your man? Who is he? I'll kill him and take it back," Samantha growded, fists also balled and jaw clenched.
"Sam!"
She looked at Gabriel, his flaming eyes fixed on hers.
"Easy," Sabbath said calmly.
A deep sigh escaped Brockelsby as she visibly relaxed.
"Mr Tilsbury," Sabbath said quietly, "I am not in the habit of doing charity work. I leave that to other members of the family, I acquired an item for you, you need to pay the agreed price."
"Yes, I quite agree," Tilsbury said. "I am in a difficult position though, as what was agreed is no longer available to give. I do however have a proposal for you."
"Go on," Sabbath said as he stood at the window and watched Pigeons flapping from one balustrade to another and back again.
"This phial of blood will produce, after my unique processing and fermentation, a full barrel of healing elixir. What I am short in True Brimstone I will make up for in elixir. I would say half a barrel should suffice?" He went quiet.
Sabbath remained quiet too, thinking it over.
He glanced at Sam and just the merest of flickers at her eyes conveyed her thoughts to him.

"Very well, Mr. Tilsbury. When can we expect to see this half barrel?"
"It takes approximately two weeks to brew," Tilsbury replied with obvious relief.
"I look forward to it. However, if I find that I am left wanting then I'll come looking for 'your man' and I'll be looking for compensation from you both."
Tilsbury nodded gravely and stood, holding out his hand. "Thank your Said Lord Sabbath," he said.
Sabbath shook Tilsbury's hand.
"Cole, I'll have the True Brimstone sent to your lab," the older man said and walked to the door.
As he opened it he paused, half in and half out. "Just to make things simple, my lord, 'my man' is Viscount Reynolds."
With that, he departed.

[Keeper]

The wind over the Irish Sea was churning the clouds so that they tumbled over one another like waves breaking on a shore.
Static built up quickly and then erupted in a sheet of white energy that surged across the sky from horizon to horizon. Its appearance was marked, several moments later by a rolling crack that lasted for many seconds before fading.
The storm buffeted a lone vessel that struggled to make its way against the squall through the dark, dangerous night sky.
A flash, a boom, a mighty gust and the craft lurched drastically, eliciting a cry of dismay from the woman sitting behind the pilot.
"Sorry!" she called out above the whine of the ether engines as they fought against the torrent.
"Hey, don't worry about that. I don't think you'll be the only one screaming like a girl today!" Samantha Brockelsby laughed, but gripped the arms of her chair tightly.
"Can you even see where you are going?" Brockelsby inquired without trying to conceal her discomfort at the situation.
"Nah!" Sabbath said nonchalantly. "But how hard can it be to get it right? Just head south by compass and stay above the water. I'm sure we'll get to see better when we get nearer."
"You're an arse, you know that?" Samantha huffed.
From her position behind the pilot she could not see Sabbath's eyes aglow, granting him a sight beyond that of normal men.
He could see the natural ebb and flow of the mana that seeped from the Hollow realms into the living world, that background level of ether that joined all things. Even so, it was still difficult keeping the aerostat on a straight path.
For another thirty minutes Sabbath flew south, noticing slowly that the storm appeared to be easing.
The wind still buffeted the aerostat airship this way and that, but Sabbath was able to control the vessel better.
Brockelsby noticed the reduction too and released her grip on her beleaguered chair. "Are we clear of that storm?" she asked.
"I think so, just normal wind and rain now," he answered optimistically.
She stood up and peered out through the rain shrouded windows into the blackness of night. Leaning forward she could see Sabbath's glowing eyes and she placed her hand on his shoulder consolingly.
"Well done, Gabe," was all she said, softly.
He flew on for another quarter hour in silence, following the compass carefully.
"We shouldn't be too far off, now," he said.
Sam returned to his side and once more peered out into the darkness.
"There!" she exclaimed excitedly as she spotted the flair of light off to her left.
"Nice one," Sabbath said, turning the craft to port and lining the bow up with the light that flared into view every few seconds.

Sabbath turned a dial on the console to his left and flicked a toggle switch on.
Above the console a greenish misty haze formed, ether-static, awaiting someone to answer the call. Eventually green the mist formed into a face, an animated bust of a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, with full sideburns and neat hair, parted on the left and combed tightly over his forehead. "Sabbath residence," the man's visage said formally.

"Owen, I'm about five minutes out. I'd appreciate it if you'd open the barn door for me!"
"Ah, Gabriel! Apologies, I had no idea it was you, or that were coming in this foul weather. Of course, I'll have the doors open by the time you arrive," the crackly voice announced over the speaker.
"Thank you, Owen," Sabbath said and flicked the comms unit off.. The aerostat rocked and swayed as the turbulent air over the water clashed with the steep cliffs of the Welsh coast.

Slowly, as Sabbath cautiously brought the aerostat closer, the lights and grounds of Strumble Head Manor came into view, the flaring beacon of the lighthouse built into the manor itself, clear and bright,
Strumble Head, the outcrop of rock that formed the small Island which the manor was upon, was separated from the mainland by a mere forty feet, and the rocks below the narrow bridge that spanned the gap were often visible at low tide. The headland, approximately circular in shape had steep sided cliffs all round,
A large rectangular opening had been carved into the north-facing, seaward cliff. Normally sealed to the elements by a gigantic door.
In the darkness of night, even with the aerostats lights on full beam, both the opening and the door were undetectable.

However, as the aircraft approached, lights came on in the cliff face, either side of the door. Then a long sliver of light appeared as the huge iron door
hinged downwards like a drawbridge to reveal. the hollow interior of the island, a large well-lit hangar.
"Almost home," Sabbath said pointlessly as he watched the cliffside become a very bright rectangle, but Sam was already watching, eager herself to return home and sleep in her own bed.
As Sabbath brought the aerostat through the hangar threshold he had to be careful not to over compensate as he had been having to do for nearly the whole journey.

Powered down, the vessel rested gently in a cradle built into the hangar floor.

Owen Morgan stood at the bottom of the brow as Sabbath and Brockelsby alighted.
Morgan was a man of thirty five years, average height and build, with neat hair, clean clothes and a very sharp mind.
He shook Sabbath's offered hand. "Welcome home you two. I truly didn't think you'd come down in this weather.
"Ah, well," Sabbath sighed, "Miss Samantha threatened me with castration if she didn't get to sleep in her own bed tonight!"
Morgan choked down a laugh

"No I did not!" Brockelsby objected.
Sabbath gave Morgan a mischievous grin and wink and ignored Sam's protestation. "So, Owen, what have you get for me?"
"Nothing," Morgan said and he stepped in alongside Sabbath as they made their way to the hanger control panel. Morgan pulled a large heavy lever and the great iron door hinged up on huge chains, thudding home with a metallic clang like thunder that shook the bedrock.
"All's well here, and with the lighthouse. I expect Dunn will have a few things to say."
"Hmm, indeed he probably will," Sabbath sighed as he contemplated his upcoming encounter with his mother's stiff and unbending butler, a throwback from his father's day.
Dunn, Sabbath recalled, had been in the Manor for all of the latter's life. An ever present source of fear and dread during his childhood, and a disapproving judge during his teenage years.
It was only when the young lord stepped up and joined the Naval Air Arm that the ever taciturn butler finally seemed to accept Gabriel Sabbath as anything more than a spoilt child.

The three made their way up through the spiralling staircase hewn from the bare rock up to the manor house, their footsteps echoing through the stairwell and informing those at the top of the stairs of their approach.
The two figures sitting patiently in front of the door to the hangar stairs suddenly sprang to their feat and began excitedly barking, yapping barks that Sabbath could hear as though they were in the stairway with him.

He opened the door from the hangar to be assaulted by two small dogs whose whole bodies wagged from side to side in excitement at seeing their Master home.
He knelt down and petted both, equally pleased
to see them. "Banger, my boy!" he said with absolute adoration to the tan coloured miniature Dachshund that kept jumping up at him in search of kisses.
The dog's sister, a black and tan colour always held back but also wanted desperately to get in there.
"C'mon Sizzles!" Sabbath encouraged. He spent a couple of minutes petting the dogs, Morgan and Brockelsby having to step around him as they carried on into the house.
Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
"Good evening, Dunn," Sabbath said standing and turning to face the imposing figure who reminded him of a classic Vampire of Legend.

"So very good of you he grace us with your presence", Dunn said with a sneer. "Your mother has retired for the right and won't be available to see you until morning," the tall gangly butter said. Sabbath straightened and looked Dunn in the eye "I think you may wish to address the attitude, Dunn." he warned.
"Attitude? I think not. I merely convey instruction not to disturb Milady at this late hour. If you were to arrive at a more appropriate hour then of course, you would be welcome to seek Milady's Company. But as you chose the early hours of the morning you will of rousse maintain the Sanctity of the house's peace. You will be retiring at your earliest convenience, Boy, won't you?"
"That's enough, Dunn!" Sabbath fumed "The hour I return is mine to choose, and if I wake the whole house in doing so then that is my prerogative." Sabbath's voice raised in anger. "When Last I looked Gabriel Sabbath was Earl of Strumble Manor, not Wilfred Dunn."
Dunn stiffened even further than he already was

"Earl!" he spet the word. "There has only been one Earl here is my lifetime, boy, and your father
bears that honour."
Sabbath's fists clenched. "My father is dead." "Missing," Dunn countered.
"I watched him die, god damn you. In front my eyes," growled the younger man.
"So you mintain. I was not there to witness the event you say happened…"
"Bloody hell, Dunn, you are poking the bear tonight," Despite himself Sabbath still bit. 'And you not Seeing a thing does not mean it did not happen."
"And you saying it did, does not make it so!"

"Dunn!" A stern female voice barked from behind the Butler. "Enough!"
The old man went rigid and half turned.
Storming towards him was a woman in her night clothes, a fur gown pulled about her. She was tall, slim, deep red hair loosely tied.
"By all that is holy, you will show the Earl respect."

The butler's nose curled up but he nodded curtly to the woman who appeared almost the same age as the 'Earl pretender'.
"As you say, Ma'am," Dunn Croaked.
"Please check the doors, then you may tum in for the night," the woman said.
Dunn nodded curtly and walked away.

The woman turned back to Sabbath with a broad smile fixed upon her pretty face and rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him.
"I'm so glad to have you home, Gabriel," she said happily.
He hugged her back. "I'm glad to be home, mum!" Sabbath watched over his mother's shoulder, to ensure Dunn had left.
She sighed. "I know what you are thinking, and you know I can't."
"No," Sabbath conceded, releasing his mother. "But I can, and unless you reign him in, I will."
"I'll try," She sighed.
Sabbath walked her back to her bedroom and said good night
"Oh, I almost forgot. You had a call to the house yesterday, I wrote the message down. They seemed very keen to speak with you," Estaria Sabbath handed her son the note.
He read the name on it; Northrupp, Dodds, Fogg and Honeywell.

[Keeper]

The room was hot, an ether boiler in the comer heated water for the whole house and it's radiated warmth could not escape the basement room.

It was a perfectly square room with a single door central on one wall. Sand coloured tiles covered both the floor and the walls,

A large copper bath dominated the central floor where steam rose from the piping hot water upon which lay thick layer of bubbles, white as snow. About a hundred candles lit the room, adding to the humid heat.

The door opened and soft bare feet padded onto the damp floor tiles.

Samantha Brockelsby was wrapped in a dressing gown and had her long curly blond hair loose about her shoulders.

She paused for a moment as she was hit by the almost sauna-like atmosphere.

Walking to a table she disrobed, folded the gown neatly and stepped cautiously into the hot bath.

She gasped as she lowered herself in, the heat as it hit her more sensitive areas taking her breath away.

Samantha lay soaking in the tub for a while, eyes shut, her senses picking out the sounds of the pipes bubbling, the ether-boiler whooshing as volatile ether was vented into its combustion chamber.
She could smell the floral aroma from the bath mixed with that not almost acidic smell of steam, and a hint of damp, mildew that probably collected in the hard to reach places within the room.

Ducking her head under the water, she suddenly felt at home, like she had been away for a very long time and had just arrived at that place that gave her comfort and pleasure.

Relaxed, comfortable, alone, eventually her hands began to wander and she felt that private pressure start to build within.

Her legs straightened, pushing her head above water and she let out a cry of surprise.
A man sat perched on the edge of the bathtub. He had long dark brown hair, currently tied back, a handsome face with a strong jaw and reddish-brown eyes that seemed to pierce her soul as he made eye contact. He was in his shirt sleeves, rolled up to the elbow, with braces holding the material close to his athletic torso. "Jesus Christ, Gabe!" "Brockelsby blasphemed, 'I'm having bath!"

"So I see," he commented absently.
Instinctively she covered her chest with her arm and clamped her legs together. Both actions were unnecessary as nothing below her shoulder was visible below the thick layer of bubbles.
Samantha glared at him, "So? What do you want?"

"I've been thinking about our ether scope meeting this morning with that law firm," he said, brows knitting as he pondered the proposal from Northrupp, Podds, Fogg and Honeywell.

"That's great!" Brochelsby said in disbelief, "But do you have to do it sat on the edge of my bath?"

"Would you rather I get in?" he asked with a grin.
"I'd rather you got out," she scolded.
Sabbath ignored her. "What do you think?"

"I think you should leave," she snorted. Again Sabbath overlocked Sam's objection. "We said we'd get back to them within the hour. I'd like to have a response, one way. another."
"Gabriel, I am naked, in the bath. This isn't really the time to discuss this," Sam said sternly.

Sabbath shrugged and absently scooped up some bubbles. "It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before," he countered. "Besides, I can't see anything through all this stuff!"
With an overly exagerated sigh, Sam relented. "Okay, you want my opinion?"

"Yes, Please."
"Risky."
"Right, that's what I was thinking."
"But," she drew the word out. "The rewards is quite lucrative. I mean, Guild standard glyphs. for the hull are pretty damned good. Loadstone on top, then there's pretty much unrestricted access to a Transference Chamber. Whilst there are no actual pounds shillings and pence involved, the monetary value of the reward is signifient.
"Yes," Sabbath enthused, "That's what I was thinking."
"You didn't really need to ask me anything then, did you? You're just being a pervert" she said drawing her knees up and sitting up straighter.
Once more he chose to ignore her comment.
"If I'm going to drag you on this escapade I at least would like to know how you are feeling about it. He wiped the bubbles on her exposed leg and noticed her jolt with surprise.
"Well, now you have your answer, if you don't mind I was busy here," Sam said earnestly.

"Yes, I noticed that too," he grinned.
"Jesus Christ, Gabe!" embarrassment tinged her voice this time.
"I can help you out with that," Sabbath said nonchalantly.
"Get out, pervert!" Brockelsby barked.
Sabbath chucked mischievously and let his hand slide down her leg.

Sam didn't move, just fixed her friend with a defiant glare, just daring him to take this further.

His hand dipped below the water and stopped. just shy of this situation escalating beyond more than a mere dare.
"Well, go on then! You've taken it this far, I double dare you!" she challenged.

Sabbath looked at her, even in the bath she was stunning, but no, he couldn't take this any further and would have to admit defeat.
With a frustrated groan he yanked his hand away and jumped up from the bath.
"No, no, no, no!" he laughed, backing up from the bath and out the door.

"It's just wrong!" he called back "All wrong! Ew!"
Samantha Brockelsby realised she had been holding her breath

"Oh my God!" she exhaled and sank back beneath the bubbles now needing to finish the job more than ever!