The Blood Debt Chronicles:

The Case of the Missing Mummy

Chapter the third or How Lord Farcical Gets Involved and Cat Finds a Meal

The grandfather clock struck the eighth hour. It was of Swiss design, as all the most impressive clocks were. An elaborate coo-coo rendition began to dance around the grandfather’s face. John pulled out his pocket watch and checked to make sure it had the proper time, like he did every morning.

Lord John Farcical was enjoying a friendly game of bridge with some of his fellow officers when the letter reached him. It was brought in the traditional way. The gentleman's club was slow to change its ways in the face of modern conveniences. It was how the men of the club liked it. Old fashioned. A place to escape the feminine flourishes and new fangled momentum of the outside world.

The club was also a place of power. Business was often conducted over cards or port. Why wouldn’t it be? Everyone who had a say in the matter, anyone of importance was a member. A noble man who wasn’t a member had made powerful enemies and was likely a beggar or soon to be.

John opened the letter and read the request. The unveiling of a mummy - there seemed to be much of that going around, he mused. A medical examination, that was a new touch. All together quite common, he had been invited to three this month. Between his position in his family and his military rank, he was popular for parties. Lord Farcical turned the card over and frowned.

John gestured and a servant was at his elbow, "Who delivered this, James?"

The servant, whose name was probably not James, answered blandly, "One of the runners, my lord."

Lord Farcical set the letter down next to his glass, "I would speak to the boy. Send him to my room. I will be along shortly."

"Very good, my lord." The servant bowed and left to see to it. Whatever was causing servants to leave service throughout England, that problem hadn’t touched the club.

Lord Farcical finished his brandy and his card game before going to his rooms. This was pressing business, but it was bad form to leave in the middle of a hand. Lord John Farcical was not impolite, he was a gentleman. The servant could wait on him. It was the lad's job after all.

The room he kept at the club was one of comfort and masculinity. The chairs were great leather things that a man could sink into. They enveloped old war wounds and soothed them away. The furniture had been a gift from his dear old friend Edward, the late Lord MacNeal. It was only after Edward's death that John realized that Edward had them enchanted to both alleviate the pain that John suffered, and stymie[1]untruth in the immediate area. An enchantment that affected everyone in the area, himself included. Edward was that sort of man. It had been nimious[2], of that John was certain. Casters weren't cheap. Even for the obscenely wealthy.

What was truly odd about the set was that it had never had to be re-enchanted. To John’s knowledge, no one had ever come by to cast anything in the rooms and John would know if someone came into his rooms. The enchantment would expire eventually, enchantments always did. That was the way of magic. The blood price or… whatever it was… only covered a certain amount of time, more of less depending on the spell and how much blood was shed. It was just strange it had lasted so many years.

The urchin was standing in his room eating an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. The lad was small and scrawny, even for one of the street boys. His face had sharp angles that didn't belong on a child. The boy froze when Farcical entered the room. Quickly he attempted to hide the partially eaten fruit among his filthy clothes. John frowned; the club typically insisted that their boys were cleaner than this. That cap he’s holding looks more like a dirty rag than a proper hat.

"Keep it." Farcical said, grabbing a second fruit - an orange this time - and tossing it to the boy. "I want you to eat those before you leave this room. I don't want them being taken from you by a larger boy." He eyed the boy carefully, "It looks like every lad outside would be bigger than you."

The urchin nodded, "Yes, yer lordship." The child held onto the fruit, but after a brief gesture from the lord, tore into it.

Farcical began questioning the child, only to find that his knowledge was frightfully limited. "Who gave you the letter?"

"Someone, I suppose."

"A man? A woman?" Farcical began to be frustrated by how pauciloquous[3]the boy was.

The lad frowned, "They was..." A deep furrow appeared in his brow. "My memory's a touch fuzzy. I think they was in a long cloak. One whit the hood pulled up." The urchin hesitated before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a second letter, "They gave me this and told me to read it when I got the chance. Only thing is, I can't read. I was gunna ask Lady MacNeal to read it for me, cause she's done me turns before."

Lord Farcical held out his hand for the letter which the child handed him with great hesitation. "Your name is, ..., Cat?"

"Yes, yer lordship."

"Interesting. It is addressed to you." John frowned and then held his up next to the child's, "They look about the same don't you think."

Cat nodded. Most letters looked the same to her. There were a few she knew; maybe a handful she had learned before running away and a few street symbols. She didn’t even know enough to recognize her own name.

Lord Farcical handed the letter back to Cat with one hand while he fished in his pocket for a shilling with his other. He came out with a pound coin. John shrugged and handed the coin to Cat. A shilling or a pound, it was the same to him. "Take your letter to the Lady MacNeal. If you tell me her reaction, I'll give you another."

Cat's eyes practically glowed as she looked at the coin before it disappeared into her filthy clothes. "Yes, yer lordship."

Lord Farcical watched the boy go and considered his options. Go or not go. He turned the card over in his hand, studying it, The real question is: did someone send me the warning as a trap to get me to come, or was the warning so I would come prepared? And if so, why do they want me?

These were important questions. Lord Farcical wasn’t a simple lord. He was independently wealthy, thanks to Edward encouraging him to buy stock in the East India Company, and he had remained wealthy thanks to his friend encouraging him to sell that stock before the Indian Rebellion. He didn’t know how Edward had known and he hadn’t asked. The man just knew things about that beastly hot country. John would never understand.

When they had served in India, it had been ghastly for John. Edward however had enjoyed every minute. Of course, Edward had also had a beautiful wife on his arm, so it was hardly a surprise he would enjoy himself.

John reclined in his chair, lost in thoughts of the old campaign days. India had been bloody hot and brutally humid, but John would give anything to be back there with Edward. His friend’s death had been as catastrophic as it was expected. You can’t poke a bear without getting mauled.

After Edward’s son, John’s godson, had been murdered – and it had been murder – Edward had tore off to India. John had tried to go with him, had wanted to, in spite of the country, but Edward had said one of them needed to live to take care of Adeline.

John had argued that if one of them should die for the boy, it should be his godfather. But Edward had put his hand on John’s shoulder, looked him in the eyes and said, “John, he’s my son.”

That was that. Edward had gone to discover what had truly happened. John couldn’t go against Edward; he venerated his friend too much.

Judging by his last letter and his steamer “accident”, he probably had discovered just that. Unfortunately, it meant that Adeline lost her only son as well as her husband; and John lost his best friend.

His last letter had been clear about the fact he was about to be murdered. Obviously, it hadn’t read, “John some bastards are about to have me killed” that would have most likely gotten John murdered too. No one who could murder someone that belonged to the House of Lords, a noble that was filthy rich and a decorated officer to boot would break a sweat getting John, even in the fortress that was the club. Hells, a network that connected probably has at least one member who belongs.

But Edward had asked him to take care of Adeline and to make sure she was provided for. He had been doing just that. Not that there was much to do, Adeline was a savvy woman and now that she was in control of the finances, John was almost certain she had doubled her wealth and increased how much she was donating to the poor. All while in mourning. It was ludicrous.

I hope he hadn’t intended for her to be dirigible[4]by me. John almost snorted at such an asinine idea. One of the club’s servants knocked on the door. John closed the drawer and returned to his chair, “Enter.”

The servant entered. “My lord, a lad who claims he saw you earlier is here. He says he has information for you.”

John checked his pocket watch. The boy had been gone for quite a long time. More to the point, I was lost in thought for an unacceptably long time. “Very well. I am ready for the boy.”

The servant showed the lad into the room, asked if there was anything he could bring and then departed. The boy, Cat, John reminded himself, was now cleaned from head to toe. His face had the kind of pallor that women where constantly carrying parasols to maintain. It was actually a surprise to John. Most urchins have some color from being out of doors all the time. Perhaps the boy spends much of his days underground? It seemed far fetched, Or his layer of filth protected him from the sun.

“My lord,” the urchin began, her voice was stronger and she spoke with more confidence than earlier, “you asked me to bring you word of the lady’s reaction.”

Lord Farcical was shocked. Where has boy’s under-privileged speech gone? “Yes, of course, please.” He nodded.

Cat made a short bow before outlining the lady’s response and how she had asked Cat to work the party. Cat didn’t go into detail in what she had been asked to look into, merely that she had been asked to ‘keep her eyes open’. John noticed as he listened that the Cat was a good deal cleaner than she had been before. Was it the club, or Lady MacNeal’s? He noticed how the urchin’s eyes didn’t stray to the fruit bowl. The lady’s then. I bet she fed the child and gave it a bath too. Cat had good, solid, British blond hair with fair blue eyes. The child’s eyes had femininely long lashes. Boy probably gets bullied a lot. I bet the lad is scrappy.

Lord Farcical nodded. “You didn’t speak so clearly before, why?”

Cat blushed and looked down, before lifting her eyes and meeting his, “Well, my lord, my lady has personally worked with me before to learn how to speak properly, but… it has been some time since I had been in her company. Seeing her again and being bathed reminded me of my manners I suppose.”

John felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, “Lady MacNeal does have that effect on people.”

Cat smiled broadly, “Aye, my lord, that she does.”

“Now, Cat, please indulge me. Do you remember the man that gave you the letter?” Maybe if I suggest something he will correct me…

Cat shook her head, “No, my lord, my memory is fuzzy and faded. All I remember is that the person was cloaked… I think… they had a hood?” She shook her head, “Honestly, I couldn’t be certain if it was a man or a woman.” She hesitated.

“What is it, lad? Anything you can remember is a help.”

“Well…” she sighed, “I don’t know if this is really anything, but I feel like… I feel like the person who gave me the letters, they was… giving off… exuding… menace. Like they was a danger to me.”

John noticed that the boy’s speech was shifting back and forth from cultured to uncultured. It was as if the boy was trying to remember to be proper, something about the memory unsettled the lad enough that he reverted back to his ‘mother tongue’. John had experienced such things when he was an officer in India. If a truly traumatic event occurred, even if he was speaking to a local that spoke Imperial English, they would often either simply speak in their mother tongue, or speak a broken mixture. As if something about the trauma physically prevented rational thought.

John tried to calm the boy’s agitation, Edward is so much better at this than I, “It’s all right, lad. They probably ensorcelled you so that you can’t remember. Don’t try to remember, they may seek to do you harm if you remember.”

Cat blanched.

John offered Cat another fruit. She took one, but tucked it into her pocket for later rather than eat it. “Thank you, boy. You may go now.” John gave Cat the coin and she departed. John had much to think on before the night came.

John steepled his fingers, “Well that seals it. If she’s going then I must go.” John unfolded himself from his chair and went to look at his chest of drawers. There were many interesting bits from his time as an officer. There were guns, swords, knives, an aruvral, a parashu, gada, chakram of five different sizes and a vijaya. He may not have cared for the climate, but he admired the creativity with which the natives killed. Death was a necessary part, if unfortunate side effect, of war and he preferred to win.

Most men that collected weapons displayed them, but for John they were weapons. Tools. He didn’t like others to know what was in his bag of tricks. So he kept them tucked away. He had a private salon under these rooms where he regularly practiced with his tools.

John was not a fat man.

He tucked away a pistol, his eyes lingering on the knives. It would be impolite to come to a dinner bristling with knives. He picked up two of his knives and tucked them away; I’ll have to be careful not to draw any blades in front of polite company. It wouldn’t do to get a reputation as a vagabond. Using knife techniques in war is one thing, on the home front is quite another.

John felt a mixture of envy and disgust for men who went to war and never saw combat. Men who never had to learn anything other than “honorable” combat. It would be nice to look at another man without the knowledge of how to kill him most effectively springing to mind.

Edward had never judged him for that. His mind had finally begun to settle down, and then Edward had died. The fear that hounded him, kept him keyed up and ready to kill had come back four fold after his friend’s death. He knew that Edward wouldn’t want John to risk his life avenging Edwards’s death, and he wouldn’t. But deep down, in the depths of his heart he hoped that Edward’s request to protect Lady Adeline would give him the opportunity anyway. The living always takes precedence over the dead. Lady Adeline’s safety would take precedence over all else. But combat was often chaotic. John was certain that if something happened, he would get an opportunity.

[1]a block or hindrance

[2]excess, extravagant

[3]uttering few words

[4]capable of being directed, steerable