The Comte’s man-servant, a big unsmiling brute from some far-flung African colony, made himself known to me. What with my smattering of franglais and his bastardized English, we were somehow able to thrash out the details of our masters coming together. In fact Dravot wasn’t such a bad fellow, when you got to know him. Scary looking enfoiré, what with the ritual facial scarring and extensive collection of voodoo inspired tattoos, but decent enough for all that. I daresay we had more in common with each other than with our masters. If our language skills had been better we could have spent a pleasant evening exchanging notes on managing the vagaries and vapours of high-born gentlemen of leisure with too much time on their hands and a penchant for bloody-minded violence — maybe another day.
The meeting would be on Hampstead Heath at dawn. As the challengee we had the right to select arms. I briefly considered some exotic option (poisoned sausages had recently been in vogue, or perhaps whist) but such ungentlemanly weaponry would never fit the guvnor’s carefully constructed persona. Realistically, there were only two cards I had to play. I chose pistols, since I reckoned they’d be easier to nobble than a blade. It’s hard to argue with three foot of razor sharp steel thrust inside you. I’d rather not see my guvnor pin-cushioned, especially after all the time and effort invested in nursing him to this stage. Of course, getting his empty head blown off his broad shoulders was no better.
Our opponents were happy for the Casus Club to oversee proceedings — it being widely regarded as an organisation of impeccable repute — ha! I thanked my stars the Comte was but recently joined. As soon as we had this detail settled, I began to feel more optimistic about my chances of engineering events to a satisfactory conclusion. Course, the peelers would have to be bribed to look the other way, but the bigwigs at The Casus were well practiced in such matters. We concluded our business for the moment and cordially took our leave. Striving to appear as if nothing were amiss, I entered the filling auditorium and sought out my boss.
Sir Percy’s lecture would take place in the museum atrium, an impressive high-vaulted chamber festooned with the plunder of empire. Far above us, suspended from the arched ceiling, a set of new-fangled electrostatic lighting cast a baleful glow over proceedings. Each time the thunder crashed outside, the bulbs blinked and faded, before flickering back to life. Two banks of folding chairs had been arranged either side of a wide aisle, facing a gilded lectern. Next to the grand entrance, several photogrammers and other assorted newsmen were busy setting up their outlandish contraptions and cursing the dimness of the hall.
As I’d expected, ‘is lordship stood near the front, peacocking for the benefit of a couple of frock-coated old duffers — who were no doubt passing on sage duelling advice. They looked like they’d know more about lance and charger than the weapons of the industrial age. I made my way down a crowded side-aisle to reach my guvnor before he landed us in more bother.
During my navigation of the fringes of the great and the good, I had chance to happen upon a most unusual young woman. She seemed unaccompanied, which immediately struck me as odd. I have a fancy that I am more observant than most, in possession of something akin to a sixth-sense, as far from rational explanation as any enchantment studied at the Royal College of Thaumaturgy. All I can say is, something immediately struck me about her as out of the ordinary — possibly even ‘unworldly’, if such a thing were possible.
She was dressed much like the other high-born ladies; a modest navy evening gown, lace gloves and bonnet restraining rather boyish short chestnut hair. But her attire and general presentation was almost too perfect, as if some contrivance of a theatrical performance rather than a genuine personage of flesh and blood. Suffice to say, I had an overwhelming impression that everything was not as it appeared. But how it appeared was very pleasing on the eye. Slender and long of limb, she moved with athletic grace as she hunted her seat. At first I took her for a particularly fashionable academic — apparently some of the more outré Oxford colleges were now accepting lady members — but no, not even that hit the mark.
She sensed me watching, and her head spun to return my gaze. Her large brown eyes shone with a patient intelligence which bore right to my core. She detected my disquiet, which in itself was remarkable, as I’m certain I broadcast no sign. Those big brown eyes narrowed, and there was a flash of steel. Inexplicably, my blood ran cold. I’ve faced danger on a host of battlefields, but never have I experienced anything quite like this. I tipped my soggy bowler to her, to cover my discombobulation, and continued on my way to the front of the auditorium. I dared not turn to look, but I was certain she marked my progress. There was no mistaking the burning target branded to my back — I’ve been shot at enough times to know the sensation. I had no doubt she could have struck it with a selection of arms, both gunpowder or muscle-powered, and like as not with the contents of a moderately well-stocked cutlery drawer. I decided I never wanted to find out.
Little did I know how significant she would prove for my unfolding tale. We would meet again, in other far less genteel circumstance.
Thank heavens — at long last Sir Percy was ready to begin. High born guests hastened to take their seats. With a clatter of decoration and scabbard, my guvnor took his. If he was concerned about his impending duel, he showed no sign. Sometimes I envy those who lack any trace of imagination. There was no seat for the likes of me, of course. Instead, I took up station amongst a smattering of other hired help adjacent to the front row of honoured guests. At least I was afforded an excellent view, not to mention a chance to dry off.
Here came Sir Percy now. The doddery academic mounted the steps to his podium with some difficulty and stood before the lectern. He did not look like a well man. It was impossible to deny that age had come upon him swiftly. There were muted gasps and mutterings from the audience. Just how he’d managed to clamber through dusty Egyptian tombs in search of his quarry I’d never know. He floundered, unsure of where he was for a moment, before at last shuffling his mound of papers and deigning to begin.
‘My Lords, Ladies and . . .’ he peered down at his notes for an inordinate amount of time, ‘. . . Gentlemen!’ I steeled myself for a long evening.
‘Thank you for coming out on this most unusual occasion. I trust you will find our hosts, here at the British Museum, more hospitable than the weather.’
Not even Sir Percy had the energy to titter at this feeble witticism. If this were a music hall, I felt sure I’d be demanding my money back come the end of the show, never mind the dancing girls. The famed archaeologist cast rheumy eyes at his pile of papers and slumped into a prolonged bout of inactivity until I began to fear he might have fallen asleep. With a start, he sprang back to life.
‘Hard to believe, but I stand before you, a man in the midst of his life’s most significant work. Mine has been a long career, though not as long as my appearance might suggest.’
I reflected he could say that again, though hopefully not all night.
‘As many of you know, I’ve dedicated my professional life to the practical study of various ancient civilizations. It’s long been my belief that human-kind’s place on this earth can be traced back much further than theologians and church would avow.’
I glanced at the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Further back, the Papal Legate looked on stony faced. To his credit, Sir Percy didn’t appear to give two hoots.
‘Back when I was a wide-eyed undergraduate, accepted wisdom held that a mere four thousand years separated us from Adam and Eve, the Apple and the Garden of Eden. Well, even my most conservative predecessors soon disproved that for the steaming hogwash that it was. Further study by my academic peers proved the great pyramids to have been constructed a full five millennia before our present time. That is where many of my more conformist colleagues draw the line. My own studies, over these many years, have led me to conclude that man’s origins can be traced far, far further back in the mists of time.’
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I sensed growing unease amongst the crowd. The peels of thunder overhead didn’t help. Again, the lights dimmed and flickered. Sir Percy pressed on.
‘You might be wondering what bearing these details have on my recent endeavours. I tell you this merely to provide perspective on my latest find. Perhaps we’d best unveil the thing itself. When you clap eyes upon the artefact, perhaps you’ll understand. It has certainly had a profound effect on me.’
With that, he signalled to a pair of brown-coated museum flunkies waiting in the wings. They wheeled out a gilded brass trolley, on which was propped a large dog-eared tome. Its cover seemed constructed from some light-absorbing leather, tar black and scratched and scuffed with age. On its intricately carved surface swarmed a profusion of strange astrological symbols and glyphs — markings of a most peculiar design.
For a moment, I felt unsteady on my feet.
Our host’s frail voice cracked with emotion. ‘Behold — The Nameless Book!’
I couldn’t help but think he was going to have to come up with something better than that. What with all the competition in the crowded world of antiquarian exhibition, marketing was of no small import. The rest of the audience appeared to share my misgivings. ‘Underwhelmed’ would have best described the mood. But Sir Percy was not to be put off.
‘This unique artefact was unearthed beneath a tomb, old even to the earliest pharaohs — sealed in a chamber lost from before the dawn of time — filled with an undecipherable script, penned by an inhuman hand — smudged with the very fingerprints of the gods!
‘It is my thesis that a detailed study will unleash latent powers as yet undreamed of — esoteric knowledge to be harnessed for the good of all mankind.’
One tweed suited academic in particular, seated not far from my guvnor, became most animated by these pronouncements, huffing and puffing with mounting disdain. Sir Percy took no notice.
‘I’ve seen it all — I’ve plundered the marvels of Thebes, of Ur, of Babylon, even . . .’ at this point a strange look came over our host, ‘. . . of far off Carcosa . . . where the black stars rise, and the shadow of men’s thoughts lengthen with the afternoon . . .’ Sir Percy seemed to drift off again, before returning with a jolt.
‘But nothing comes close to this! In all my years I’ve never made a discovery so significant. It’s my belief this manuscript holds the key to the . . . changes that have lately befallen our world. Amongst other things, I speak of course of the peculiar anomaly that has, these several years passed, settled over Paris.’
This at least sparked a murmur from the crowd. Silently I smiled with wry amusement. Peculiar anomaly — ha! If Sir Percy’s skills at showmanship were half those of his talent for understatement, he would have been better served. Perhaps he was learning — he held up a hand for silence.
‘Maybe even a hope of a reversal. With careful study I plan to banish the sad blight that has beset our French cousins — The City of Lights will be rescued from the hellish gyre!’
Now a gasp went up from the throng. These were wild claims indeed. Sir Percy had clearly touched a nerve, and not just among the Frenchies. The tweed clad gent at the front snorted loudly, got to his feet, and stormed out in a proper funk; a sceptic after my heart. It was at that point movement on the far side of the audience caught my eye. Turned out a good job I was looking that way, considering what happened next.
There was a deafening crash of thunder, the lights blinked out, and this time they stayed off for good. The hall was plunged into darkness. A collective shriek went up from the crowd. And that was when I saw him. A shadowy figure broke from the cloister opposite and charged along the front row of dignitaries, straight for Master Alex.
My first thought was the Comte had hired some ruffian to do his dirty work, prior to their meeting on the morrow. If not the Frenchman, then perhaps some other wronged husband — there was quite an extensive list of candidates. Either way, my instincts kicked in. I was soon in motion, intent on defending the guvnor.
That was when I got my next surprise. Instead of holding course, the newcomer veered towards Sir Percy’s book. He carried a bag, or sack of some kind. Quick as a flash, he wrapped it round the manuscript and scooped it up, before hastily continuing on his merry way. I intercepted him adjacent to Master Alex.
Silently I cursed my negligence — my cosh was in my other suit; I’d have to improvise. Side-stepping I formed a fist, the first curled digit protruding. With a bend of the elbow I whip-lashed this bony mass side-on into the ne’er-do-well’s noggin, neatly clothes-lining him, with some force. His legs pumping, momentum spun him backwards, the rear of his head striking the floor with a loud crack.
I took position between the crumpled interloper and my guvnor, ready for another attack. Somehow the thief staggered to his feet, as unsteady as a newborn giraffe. My swinging elbow made firm contact with his hooter; there was a heartening crunch. The ruffian collapsed to the marble like a nine bob suit, this time for good. The package he’d pilfered spun from his grasp. I plucked it from the air.
Beside me ‘is lordship had clambered to his feet, floundering in the darkness. ‘That you, Bill? Who killed the blasted lights? What’s all this screaming?’
I handed him the bag and took the opportunity to shake-out the sleeves of my rumpled jacket. Sad to say, my bowler had become askew in the kerfuffle — I soon put that right.
Someone must have kicked the generator because after a few half-hearted flickers, the lights came back on. There was a moment of stunned silence from the crowd. It didn’t last long.
It was then that I noticed the young lady I’d encountered earlier. She was stood not five feet away, frozen mid-advance, a look of concentration on her pretty face. Other than levitation I struggled to fathom how he could have arrived on the scene so quickly. The lights restored, and chaos erupting around her, she reverted to her earlier less obtrusive manner. I fancy I was the only who noticed this transformation. Silently we locked eyes, and once again I felt that chilling hint of steel. The moment passed and she quietly melted into the milling crowd.
But there was no time to pursue the matter. One of the old duffers nearby cried out in excitement. ‘Faversham saved Sir Percy’s book!’ The response from the congregation only added to the din. With a great blaring of whistles the peelers arrived and made to apprehend the fallen robber, who had failed to stir from his peaceful forearm induced repose. Despite his lack of resistance he was taken into custody most ungently.
Beset by well-wishers my guvnor suffered a momentary confusion, before breaking into a sheepish grin. I took a discreet step behind him and grabbed his elbow, whispering in his ear. ‘Remember, sir — a little modesty pays double. The gentlemen of the press are already closing in. Best let them draw their own conclusions.’ Other than that, I kept my mouth shut, and let nature run its course. I’ve seen these situations play out enough times to know how the dice fall.
‘Faversham saved the day!’ went up the cry; ‘bravo, bravo!’ bellowed another. Some fool started singing God Save The Queen, though just what dear old Vicky had to do with it I’ll never know. Sir Percy shuffled over, with his entourage in tow, and waxed most effusive with his thanks. Almost overcome by the vapours he was, when the guvnor handed back his precious book. Surreptitiously I took charge of the bag the robber had carried, slipping it inside my jacket.
The aged antiquarian pumped the guvnor’s hand. ‘A most timely intervention sir, well done! What’s more, I hear you’ve conspired to land yourself a duel on the morrow. Bravo Faversham!’
His lordship struck a pose. ‘Oh, you know me, Sir Percy. Always happy to render any assistance, however small.’
Sir Percy swooned. ‘Almost like the good old days. You’ve had a busy day, young man — hero business must be hard work. I myself am most overcome by events, feel the need for a lie down, too much excitement for one night.’
Of course, there was no chance of the lecture continuing. I thanked my lucky stars that if nothing else this one further crime had been averted. In any case, I got the impression Sir Percy had covered all the pertinent points. Now he was simply glad to bask in the publicity ensuing from this worrisome incident.
The guvnor played it nice and cool — at least I’d taught him something. The scribblers from the papers descended, accompanied with much clatter of paraphernalia by their attendant photogrammers. If the boffins ever lessen the need for so many tripods and flash-pans of explosive chemicals I feel certain the world of journalism will be better served. But for now at least the guvnor would have his (somewhat blurry) picture in all the papers again; it had been several weeks.
The peelers were soon pressed into service herding a grateful public into line, keen to be seen with the man of the hour. I’ve witnessed praise go to the head of many a man, and not for the first time I reflected that when that head is largely empty the effects are only magnified. Fame is a faithless mistress, best shunned by those with sense.
Suffice to say the boss never got to the Casus Club for last orders; well, I certainly did, after attending to a few errands. When the excitement of the evening waned I packed Master Alex off back to our lodgings, with instructions to get a good night’s kip, with a view to an early start. I’d be lucky to get my head down before his appointment with the Comte. They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Just what verdict this casts on my state of grace is something to which I will add no comment.