Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Adrian Poole proved to be an easy nut to crack. The cracks appeared when Orla told him his employer had been savagely beaten, and he crumpled when Nigel brought up the subject of the police.
"I didn't mean for him to be hurt! Not that he doesn't deserve it, with what he's paying me!" Poole seethed. "I was approached by a man from the tavern across the street. A tall man, nicely dressed, dark hair with grey streaks. A flashy sort of fellow. East ender. Offered me 500 pounds."
A small commotion from the back of the building interrupted their conversation. Sandor and Artimis had attempted to sweet-talk the servants at Poole's boarding house, and after some initial success, found themselves being chased out of the kitchen by a woman with a broom.
"How were you to receive your money?"
"I was to meet him at the tavern, at seven o'clock."
"We will need you to make that appointment," Nigel said sternly. "If we can get back the key, none of this has to come out in the open. What is the man's name?"
"I never asked."
The doorbell rang, and Poole's landlady, a rather severe woman named Miss Tess, opened the door. Artimis and Sandor were at the door, trying to act as if their entire misadventure in the back of the boarding house had never occurred. She seemed disinclined to allow them entrance, but Artimis passed his hands over one of his tattoos, and she fell straight away into a deep slumber. He caught her as she fell, and sat her down in one of her foyer chairs.
"That would be our cue to leave," Orla said. "You'll need to stay with us for the moment, Mr. Poole."
Poole nodded dejectedly.
Cass and Amands followed behind Poole as they began to leave, but stopped as Artimis held up his hand to stop them. "Wait. There's someone outside, they've followed us," he said, without once looking behind him into the street.
"No, it's alright," he continued after a brief pause. "I think it's one of the children." He turned on his heels, and strode out of Miss Tess' boarding house, into the London winter.
As the others left, they found that Artimis had been right. A small, dirty elvish girl waited for them outside. Her tattered dress did not conceal that she was missing her left arm, from what ravage of poverty they could not guess. Artimis held up his arm, and from the peak of a house overlooking them, a hawk flew down, and landed on the offered perch.
"Good girl," Artimis murmured, offering the hawk a small bite of food.
"Lor," the little girl exclaimed. "Is 'ee yoors?"
"I suppose you could put it like that," Artimis replied, letting the little girl gently pet the bird's wing. Sandor knelt by the girl.
"Mary, isn't it? Why did you come here? Do you know something about the Orkling we were talking about earlier?"
The girl nodded. "Devin didn't want any of us to say anything. 'Ee's afraid. But we saw that tusky fella with another man there before. An' I know who brought that man the letter. It was Dorian, 'ee one 'at was there, too. Ee's sick, Dorian is. Fever, 'ee got."
"So you've seen the Orkling before?" Sandor asked the little elven girl.
"Oh, yes. Dorian follows him 'round all over. Dorian's an Orkling, too," she explained.
"The man you saw the Orkling talking too, was he a well-dressed fellow?" Nigel inquired.
"Oh, yeah," Mary responded brightly. "He real flash! Name's Balthazar, Devin calls him 'the Weasel.'"
"And he's friends with the big Orkling?"
"Nah, not really. He doesn't let 'im and 'is friends come 'round there much."
Sandor sent Mary back on her way with thanks, a few coins and a piece of candy, and the investigators decided to bide their time for the next several hours at a pub whle they made plans for their course of action. Orla left in order to find an old friend who she thought might be able to help them find the Orkling. When she got back, Artimis was starting to get a little tipsy. Cass inspected his drink.
"What are you drinking there?" she asked, eyeing him cautiously. She sniffed at his drink. "Tea?"
"I like tea!" Artimus proclaimed loudly, standing up so all could hear. Cass looked at Nigel with a questioning look.
"I'm sorry I bought him the tea," Nigel said. "How was I to know?"
He turned to Orla. "what did you find out?"
"His name is Iron Tusk," Orla explained. "He's a dockworker, and he's part of a gang called the Green Daggers. He hangs around a place called the 'Jolly Roger' or 'Hangman's Noose' or something like that. That's where he got his new favorite weapon. The table leg. He got into a fight there, broke a table up, and beat a man to death with it."
"New favorite weapon?" Amanda asked. "What was his old favorite weapon?"
"A cricket bat. So what do you think about Balthazar? Is he a Green Dagger?
"I hope not," Nigel said. The others looked at him curiously.
"I know a little about the Green Daggers," he explained. "They're small-time, but they're well-connected. Mostly brute force kinds of work, but they are just a small part of a larger criminal organization. A very dangerous criminal organization."
"What, is Iron Tusk a Sicilian Orkling?" Artimus asked.
Nigel shook his head. "London's criminal underground is made of many small groups, but the great majority of them are controlled by one man. A criminal mastermind."
"Well, out with it!" Orla exclaimed. "Who?"
"Do you not read?" Nigel replied, exasperated. "Have you never seen the exploits of Mr. Holmes, nor read the accounts written by Doctor Watson of their cases?"
From the looks on their faces, he surmised they had not.
"His name is Moriarty. Professor Moriarty. The Napolean of crime."
"I didn't mean for him to be hurt! Not that he doesn't deserve it, with what he's paying me!" Poole seethed. "I was approached by a man from the tavern across the street. A tall man, nicely dressed, dark hair with grey streaks. A flashy sort of fellow. East ender. Offered me 500 pounds."
A small commotion from the back of the building interrupted their conversation. Sandor and Artimis had attempted to sweet-talk the servants at Poole's boarding house, and after some initial success, found themselves being chased out of the kitchen by a woman with a broom.
"How were you to receive your money?"
"I was to meet him at the tavern, at seven o'clock."
"We will need you to make that appointment," Nigel said sternly. "If we can get back the key, none of this has to come out in the open. What is the man's name?"
"I never asked."
The doorbell rang, and Poole's landlady, a rather severe woman named Miss Tess, opened the door. Artimis and Sandor were at the door, trying to act as if their entire misadventure in the back of the boarding house had never occurred. She seemed disinclined to allow them entrance, but Artimis passed his hands over one of his tattoos, and she fell straight away into a deep slumber. He caught her as she fell, and sat her down in one of her foyer chairs.
"That would be our cue to leave," Orla said. "You'll need to stay with us for the moment, Mr. Poole."
Poole nodded dejectedly.
Cass and Amands followed behind Poole as they began to leave, but stopped as Artimis held up his hand to stop them. "Wait. There's someone outside, they've followed us," he said, without once looking behind him into the street.
"No, it's alright," he continued after a brief pause. "I think it's one of the children." He turned on his heels, and strode out of Miss Tess' boarding house, into the London winter.
As the others left, they found that Artimis had been right. A small, dirty elvish girl waited for them outside. Her tattered dress did not conceal that she was missing her left arm, from what ravage of poverty they could not guess. Artimis held up his arm, and from the peak of a house overlooking them, a hawk flew down, and landed on the offered perch.
"Good girl," Artimis murmured, offering the hawk a small bite of food.
"Lor," the little girl exclaimed. "Is 'ee yoors?"
"I suppose you could put it like that," Artimis replied, letting the little girl gently pet the bird's wing. Sandor knelt by the girl.
"Mary, isn't it? Why did you come here? Do you know something about the Orkling we were talking about earlier?"
The girl nodded. "Devin didn't want any of us to say anything. 'Ee's afraid. But we saw that tusky fella with another man there before. An' I know who brought that man the letter. It was Dorian, 'ee one 'at was there, too. Ee's sick, Dorian is. Fever, 'ee got."
"So you've seen the Orkling before?" Sandor asked the little elven girl.
"Oh, yes. Dorian follows him 'round all over. Dorian's an Orkling, too," she explained.
"The man you saw the Orkling talking too, was he a well-dressed fellow?" Nigel inquired.
"Oh, yeah," Mary responded brightly. "He real flash! Name's Balthazar, Devin calls him 'the Weasel.'"
"And he's friends with the big Orkling?"
"Nah, not really. He doesn't let 'im and 'is friends come 'round there much."
Sandor sent Mary back on her way with thanks, a few coins and a piece of candy, and the investigators decided to bide their time for the next several hours at a pub whle they made plans for their course of action. Orla left in order to find an old friend who she thought might be able to help them find the Orkling. When she got back, Artimis was starting to get a little tipsy. Cass inspected his drink.
"What are you drinking there?" she asked, eyeing him cautiously. She sniffed at his drink. "Tea?"
"I like tea!" Artimus proclaimed loudly, standing up so all could hear. Cass looked at Nigel with a questioning look.
"I'm sorry I bought him the tea," Nigel said. "How was I to know?"
He turned to Orla. "what did you find out?"
"His name is Iron Tusk," Orla explained. "He's a dockworker, and he's part of a gang called the Green Daggers. He hangs around a place called the 'Jolly Roger' or 'Hangman's Noose' or something like that. That's where he got his new favorite weapon. The table leg. He got into a fight there, broke a table up, and beat a man to death with it."
"New favorite weapon?" Amanda asked. "What was his old favorite weapon?"
"A cricket bat. So what do you think about Balthazar? Is he a Green Dagger?
"I hope not," Nigel said. The others looked at him curiously.
"I know a little about the Green Daggers," he explained. "They're small-time, but they're well-connected. Mostly brute force kinds of work, but they are just a small part of a larger criminal organization. A very dangerous criminal organization."
"What, is Iron Tusk a Sicilian Orkling?" Artimus asked.
Nigel shook his head. "London's criminal underground is made of many small groups, but the great majority of them are controlled by one man. A criminal mastermind."
"Well, out with it!" Orla exclaimed. "Who?"
"Do you not read?" Nigel replied, exasperated. "Have you never seen the exploits of Mr. Holmes, nor read the accounts written by Doctor Watson of their cases?"
From the looks on their faces, he surmised they had not.
"His name is Moriarty. Professor Moriarty. The Napolean of crime."
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