Back-to-back conventions and jury duty are teh suck. But we persevere!
Dateline: Marlborough Club, London, Merrie Auld, 1871 or thereabouts (who the hell knows Mobius time)
From the Journals of Tom Olan:
Our gathering took place in the upstairs drawing room of the Marlborough Club, the place Prince Bertie had set aside for all business pertaining to the Second Compact. This evening’s meeting was a somewhat grim affair. We had hints and intimations that the esteemed Doctor Runcible, a gentleman scientist with connections to the Steam Lords, was currently tinkering with Forces Man Was Not Meant to Meddle With. What we didn’t have was proof, and without that (or the good doctor in our hands) all our investigations were worthless. Marieanne and I were ready to just go to the Runcible estate and start breaking things--go with what you know, right?--but there were… complications.
“Runcible’s backers are well-known and connected to London’s newspapermen,” Bertie pronounced. “If you move against him, the whole thing may be made public. The damage to the Second Compact could be considerable.”
“Okay, so we be quiet. We can do that,” I argued. Marieanne looked a little dubious.
“I’m not as sure, Thomas,” she said. “Entering will be quiet, yes, but exiting? Doctor Runicble has guards, and we might not be able to handle them without making quite the racket.”
“This sounds like our cue to pitch in,” offered the newest additions to our secret order of do-gooders. I wasn’t sure exactly where I stood with Sam Wildman and Flavia Nepos--the “Storm Knights” as Auberon had dubbed them and convinced the King to formalize--as they flouted the Great Game with almost terrifying good cheer. “We’re professional sneaktheives, after all. If you need incriminating documents or Runcible himself extracted from the premises, we can do that.”
“Or,” Flavia added with a thin smile, her accent wavering between Italian, French, Spanish, Romanian and back again. “If you’d just rather Runcible Manor burn down in a ‘tragic lab accident’” and I could hear the quotes “we can do that too. We’re quite flexible.”
Marieanne and I traded somewhat disturbed looks. Our business wasn’t free of bloodshed by any means, we both had blood on our hands but the sheer ruthlessness of the travellers from beyond the Veil was disquieting. I certainly didn't remember people that cold in the 20th Century I left behind. “I think, Dame Flavia,” Bertie said hastily, “that we should leave that distasteful option as the absolute last resort.” Flavia shrugged. “I have confidence that Captain Olam and Lady Marieanne can do their duty with regards to Runcible,” he continued, “what is needed is something to keep the papers busy while they go about their work.”
Sam and Flavia traded a brief glance. “I think we might be able to do that,” Sam said.
“Let’s say,” Flavia picked up the unspoken thread. “Just as a hypothetical, you understand, if the papers had something really salacious happen the night before. Say… something sufficiently outrageous at a Royal engagement. Would that be enough to keep any crimes at Runcible Manor out of the public eye?” I was floored. Deliberately start something, and at a Royal party no less, as cover? Marieanne’s shock was no less than mine, but I could see her experienced adventuress’s mind mind work over the angles.
“It could work,” she said slowly. “But it would have to be quite scandalous to divert attention, mon Roman.”
“That’s the easy part,” Flavia replied easily. “If you’re willing to play along, Your Highness, I’ll need five hundred pounds cash, a week and a letter of introduction to your tailors.” Bertie looked a little confused, then he laughed.
“Dame Flavia, you have my support,” he said happily, clapping his hands together. “This has the makings of a capital jest! Mother will be furious!”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
Dateline: Marlborough Club, London, Merrie Auld, 1871 or thereabouts (who the hell knows Mobius time)
From the Journals of Tom Olan:
Our gathering took place in the upstairs drawing room of the Marlborough Club, the place Prince Bertie had set aside for all business pertaining to the Second Compact. This evening’s meeting was a somewhat grim affair. We had hints and intimations that the esteemed Doctor Runcible, a gentleman scientist with connections to the Steam Lords, was currently tinkering with Forces Man Was Not Meant to Meddle With. What we didn’t have was proof, and without that (or the good doctor in our hands) all our investigations were worthless. Marieanne and I were ready to just go to the Runcible estate and start breaking things--go with what you know, right?--but there were… complications.
“Runcible’s backers are well-known and connected to London’s newspapermen,” Bertie pronounced. “If you move against him, the whole thing may be made public. The damage to the Second Compact could be considerable.”
“Okay, so we be quiet. We can do that,” I argued. Marieanne looked a little dubious.
“I’m not as sure, Thomas,” she said. “Entering will be quiet, yes, but exiting? Doctor Runicble has guards, and we might not be able to handle them without making quite the racket.”
“This sounds like our cue to pitch in,” offered the newest additions to our secret order of do-gooders. I wasn’t sure exactly where I stood with Sam Wildman and Flavia Nepos--the “Storm Knights” as Auberon had dubbed them and convinced the King to formalize--as they flouted the Great Game with almost terrifying good cheer. “We’re professional sneaktheives, after all. If you need incriminating documents or Runcible himself extracted from the premises, we can do that.”
“Or,” Flavia added with a thin smile, her accent wavering between Italian, French, Spanish, Romanian and back again. “If you’d just rather Runcible Manor burn down in a ‘tragic lab accident’” and I could hear the quotes “we can do that too. We’re quite flexible.”
Marieanne and I traded somewhat disturbed looks. Our business wasn’t free of bloodshed by any means, we both had blood on our hands but the sheer ruthlessness of the travellers from beyond the Veil was disquieting. I certainly didn't remember people that cold in the 20th Century I left behind. “I think, Dame Flavia,” Bertie said hastily, “that we should leave that distasteful option as the absolute last resort.” Flavia shrugged. “I have confidence that Captain Olam and Lady Marieanne can do their duty with regards to Runcible,” he continued, “what is needed is something to keep the papers busy while they go about their work.”
Sam and Flavia traded a brief glance. “I think we might be able to do that,” Sam said.
“Let’s say,” Flavia picked up the unspoken thread. “Just as a hypothetical, you understand, if the papers had something really salacious happen the night before. Say… something sufficiently outrageous at a Royal engagement. Would that be enough to keep any crimes at Runcible Manor out of the public eye?” I was floored. Deliberately start something, and at a Royal party no less, as cover? Marieanne’s shock was no less than mine, but I could see her experienced adventuress’s mind mind work over the angles.
“It could work,” she said slowly. “But it would have to be quite scandalous to divert attention, mon Roman.”
“That’s the easy part,” Flavia replied easily. “If you’re willing to play along, Your Highness, I’ll need five hundred pounds cash, a week and a letter of introduction to your tailors.” Bertie looked a little confused, then he laughed.
“Dame Flavia, you have my support,” he said happily, clapping his hands together. “This has the makings of a capital jest! Mother will be furious!”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"