Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Interlude
London, England
January 9th, 1888
The knock at Nigel Spenser's door was barely audible, more like a scratch at the door than a knock. Nigel grinned, and opened the door.
" A couple of solid applications of knuckle to door is the generally accepted method, Artimis," he said.
"Come in!"
Artimis Swain was wearing his usual high collar, hiding the gills that would draw attention to him, even in London, where Orkling, Elfborn, and Fir Bholg walked the misty cobblestoned streets. He set his spear just inside the doorway, and looked as though he were going to say something. He stopped as he gazed at the wall of Nigel's drawing room. Nigel had covered it in corkboard, and small slips of paper were pinned all over it in an apparently haphazard application. The lower part of the wall was covered in slips, while the upper half was barely covered in more than a few places. At the very top was an old photograph of a professorial-looking man in his twenties or thirties in a fine frock coat and top hat..
"What is that?" Artimis exclaimed.
"Ah!" Nigel cried. "I'm starting a project. A categorization of all the tendrils of crime that emanate from this man."
Nigel pointed to the dissaproving looking fellow in the old photo.
"And that is?" Artimis asked, skeptically.
"The infamous Professor Moriarty, of course," Nigel replied. "I'm rather annoyed at the fact that this Veldargo chap escaped us, but that's water under the bridge. There's no sense in fretting over it. Instead, I plan on taking action to uncover him, and in the process, start this project. I've been planning on this for some time."
"I'll add to this as I learn new connections that lead back to the Professor, while keeping an eye on those elements of his criminal enterprises that someone such as Veldargo might need."
"But we know nothing of Veldargo," Artimis pointed out.
"Absolutely true," Nigel said. "But we know that he wanted some engravings out of a book purportedly penned by one of the great wizards of the 14th century. We know he himself has access to magicks that allowed him to put up a solid wall of stone in our path when we tried to follow him. If he's looking to sell the engravings, I'll be keeping an eye out on fences known for trafficking in magical works. If he plans on using themselves for some ritual or something along those lines, it might be a little more difficult. I'll keep an eye on sages and scholars who are known to be experts on Vittorio Mateo, or who are known for working with the seedier wizards of our fine city."
Nigel grinned and looked at his handiwork. It was spotty at the moment, but he could see the gaps and had ideas on how to fill them. He snapped his fingers.
"I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "I received a letter that might interest you."
"I received a letter as well," Artimis replied.
"Was it from Scotland Yard?"
"No, it was from a friend of mine."
"Oh. Well, take a look at this one," Nigel said, handing over an envelope embossed with the seal of London's reknowned Scotland Yard.
"Interesting," Artimis said. "Take a look at this. I think we might be able to work on this after we help Inspector Bennett."
"This has to do with the map you showed us, correct?" Nigel asked.
"Exactly. Are you interested?"
"Of course!"
"It occurs to me," Artimis said, "that to search for sunken treasure of this sort, we're likely to need some resources. A sizeable ship, a crew, etc. We'll most likely need some backing."
"The sort of backing that rich people who look to hire people to protect them could provide," he finished, gesturing towards Nigel's letter.
Nigel grinned again. "Shall we meet at Scotland Yard in the morning, then?"
"I'll see you then," Artimis responded.
London, England
January 9th, 1888
The knock at Nigel Spenser's door was barely audible, more like a scratch at the door than a knock. Nigel grinned, and opened the door.
" A couple of solid applications of knuckle to door is the generally accepted method, Artimis," he said.
"Come in!"
Artimis Swain was wearing his usual high collar, hiding the gills that would draw attention to him, even in London, where Orkling, Elfborn, and Fir Bholg walked the misty cobblestoned streets. He set his spear just inside the doorway, and looked as though he were going to say something. He stopped as he gazed at the wall of Nigel's drawing room. Nigel had covered it in corkboard, and small slips of paper were pinned all over it in an apparently haphazard application. The lower part of the wall was covered in slips, while the upper half was barely covered in more than a few places. At the very top was an old photograph of a professorial-looking man in his twenties or thirties in a fine frock coat and top hat..
"What is that?" Artimis exclaimed.
"Ah!" Nigel cried. "I'm starting a project. A categorization of all the tendrils of crime that emanate from this man."
Nigel pointed to the dissaproving looking fellow in the old photo.
"And that is?" Artimis asked, skeptically.
"The infamous Professor Moriarty, of course," Nigel replied. "I'm rather annoyed at the fact that this Veldargo chap escaped us, but that's water under the bridge. There's no sense in fretting over it. Instead, I plan on taking action to uncover him, and in the process, start this project. I've been planning on this for some time."
"I'll add to this as I learn new connections that lead back to the Professor, while keeping an eye on those elements of his criminal enterprises that someone such as Veldargo might need."
"But we know nothing of Veldargo," Artimis pointed out.
"Absolutely true," Nigel said. "But we know that he wanted some engravings out of a book purportedly penned by one of the great wizards of the 14th century. We know he himself has access to magicks that allowed him to put up a solid wall of stone in our path when we tried to follow him. If he's looking to sell the engravings, I'll be keeping an eye out on fences known for trafficking in magical works. If he plans on using themselves for some ritual or something along those lines, it might be a little more difficult. I'll keep an eye on sages and scholars who are known to be experts on Vittorio Mateo, or who are known for working with the seedier wizards of our fine city."
Nigel grinned and looked at his handiwork. It was spotty at the moment, but he could see the gaps and had ideas on how to fill them. He snapped his fingers.
"I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "I received a letter that might interest you."
"I received a letter as well," Artimis replied.
"Was it from Scotland Yard?"
"No, it was from a friend of mine."
"Oh. Well, take a look at this one," Nigel said, handing over an envelope embossed with the seal of London's reknowned Scotland Yard.
Dear Mr. Spenser,
Please allow me to introduce myself and forgive the impertinence of writing to you without the benefit of formal introduction. My name is Inspector Bennett, of the Met. Police of London, and I am writing to you upon the recommendation of Mr. Peabody of Lloyd’s of London, who speaks highly of your abilities and discretion.
As you may have read in the newspapers, there has been a number of appalling attacks, dare I say murders, in recent weeks, all upon the finest of society and perpetrated by, in my professional opinion, the same bloodthirsty maniac. As you can imagine, this has caused something of a panic and the good citizens are demanding private protection for their families. London being a rather large city and the size of the police force being what it is, we simply do not have the personnel to guard every citizen individually all whilst tracking a crazed and dangerous murderer. Therefore, I am offering to temporarily appoint you and whatever fellows you deem brave and trustworthy as constables until such time that the criminal is caught and brought to justice. With the department budgeting being what it is, we would be unable to compensate you directly, but the families, being of the best sort, are prepared to reward you handsomely for your service.
If you are interested in such matters, please come at once to No. 4 Whitehall Place with your most dependable and honest colleagues to take your oath of service and receive your assignments.
Best Regards,
Inspector Charles H. Bennett
Please allow me to introduce myself and forgive the impertinence of writing to you without the benefit of formal introduction. My name is Inspector Bennett, of the Met. Police of London, and I am writing to you upon the recommendation of Mr. Peabody of Lloyd’s of London, who speaks highly of your abilities and discretion.
As you may have read in the newspapers, there has been a number of appalling attacks, dare I say murders, in recent weeks, all upon the finest of society and perpetrated by, in my professional opinion, the same bloodthirsty maniac. As you can imagine, this has caused something of a panic and the good citizens are demanding private protection for their families. London being a rather large city and the size of the police force being what it is, we simply do not have the personnel to guard every citizen individually all whilst tracking a crazed and dangerous murderer. Therefore, I am offering to temporarily appoint you and whatever fellows you deem brave and trustworthy as constables until such time that the criminal is caught and brought to justice. With the department budgeting being what it is, we would be unable to compensate you directly, but the families, being of the best sort, are prepared to reward you handsomely for your service.
If you are interested in such matters, please come at once to No. 4 Whitehall Place with your most dependable and honest colleagues to take your oath of service and receive your assignments.
Best Regards,
Inspector Charles H. Bennett
"Interesting," Artimis said. "Take a look at this. I think we might be able to work on this after we help Inspector Bennett."
Dear Mr. Swain,
I hope this letter finds you in excellent health. I also hope that you do not mind that I leave this message in the capable hands of Miss Beck, a most charming and gracious hostess. Please give her my thanks and warmest regards.
I have left this letter on what would have been my third visit, and I am somewhat concerned that I have failed to meet with you yet again and I fear that some misfortune has befallen you. It would greatly put my mind at ease to receive some word of your disposition, should a visit in person prove too bothersome. I hope I am not intruding upon matters of your private life and pray that you understand that I ask after you only as a concerned friend.
I must admit that I am quite anxious to show you some rather odd facts that my research has uncovered. I have been faithfully searching for traces of the artefacts of which we have spoken on many occasions. I have continued my interviews with sailors and fishermen, but unfortunately, I have not found substantial proof any such objects existing in England. However, one old fisherman of the name Harold Goodman did tell me an interesting tale. He comes from a small village in the North called Shoalbury, a town which until recently survived mainly on the fishing trade. The locals have discovered an oyster bed that produces red pearls exclusively. This in of itself is unusual but not unheard of, though red pearls are rather rare, and Mr. Goodman swore that no oyster bed had existed in those waters previously and that the bed had sprung up “overnight.” It could be merely a “fish tale,” if you forgive the phrase, but I thought I should at least mention it to you in case it had some larger significance to you.
Also, I made an interesting discovery in regards to the map you showed me and have found two stories as to where it leads. Both stories involve shipwrecks, though hundreds of years apart. The first story was recounted to me by an English sailor in H.M. Navy, a man named Balliwick (I apologize that I do not have his Christian name, but he was rather incoherent as he was intoxicated). According to Mr. Balliwick, his grandfather served under Lord Nelson during the war with France, and that a French vessel was mysteriously lost in that region, perhaps during a storm. As you can imagine, he told a tale of Napoleon’s fabulous wealth lost to the sea, but ripe for the picking for some brave and adventurous soul.
The second tale I found in a book whilst researching an unrelated topic. I was translating an ancient book of accounts written in a rather dry style by a merchant named Miles Caperoys and was surprised to find in the midst of his figures and inventory a rather fascinating account of his ship being overtaken by Barbary pirates en route to the Kingdom of Jerusalem. During this struggle, the ship was accidentally sunken by the attackers, who had merely intended to take the ship as spoils, and the merchant was taken as a hostage briefly until ransomed by Christian knights.
Is it possible that not only is your map real, but that it leads to one of these ships? Or is it merely a product of the fertile imaginations of sailors who for hundreds of years heard tales of sunken ships laden with gold and treasure? I can not be certain on either account, but I shall continue my research and search for the Truth nonetheless.
Yours,
Dr. Randolph W. Spivey
I hope this letter finds you in excellent health. I also hope that you do not mind that I leave this message in the capable hands of Miss Beck, a most charming and gracious hostess. Please give her my thanks and warmest regards.
I have left this letter on what would have been my third visit, and I am somewhat concerned that I have failed to meet with you yet again and I fear that some misfortune has befallen you. It would greatly put my mind at ease to receive some word of your disposition, should a visit in person prove too bothersome. I hope I am not intruding upon matters of your private life and pray that you understand that I ask after you only as a concerned friend.
I must admit that I am quite anxious to show you some rather odd facts that my research has uncovered. I have been faithfully searching for traces of the artefacts of which we have spoken on many occasions. I have continued my interviews with sailors and fishermen, but unfortunately, I have not found substantial proof any such objects existing in England. However, one old fisherman of the name Harold Goodman did tell me an interesting tale. He comes from a small village in the North called Shoalbury, a town which until recently survived mainly on the fishing trade. The locals have discovered an oyster bed that produces red pearls exclusively. This in of itself is unusual but not unheard of, though red pearls are rather rare, and Mr. Goodman swore that no oyster bed had existed in those waters previously and that the bed had sprung up “overnight.” It could be merely a “fish tale,” if you forgive the phrase, but I thought I should at least mention it to you in case it had some larger significance to you.
Also, I made an interesting discovery in regards to the map you showed me and have found two stories as to where it leads. Both stories involve shipwrecks, though hundreds of years apart. The first story was recounted to me by an English sailor in H.M. Navy, a man named Balliwick (I apologize that I do not have his Christian name, but he was rather incoherent as he was intoxicated). According to Mr. Balliwick, his grandfather served under Lord Nelson during the war with France, and that a French vessel was mysteriously lost in that region, perhaps during a storm. As you can imagine, he told a tale of Napoleon’s fabulous wealth lost to the sea, but ripe for the picking for some brave and adventurous soul.
The second tale I found in a book whilst researching an unrelated topic. I was translating an ancient book of accounts written in a rather dry style by a merchant named Miles Caperoys and was surprised to find in the midst of his figures and inventory a rather fascinating account of his ship being overtaken by Barbary pirates en route to the Kingdom of Jerusalem. During this struggle, the ship was accidentally sunken by the attackers, who had merely intended to take the ship as spoils, and the merchant was taken as a hostage briefly until ransomed by Christian knights.
Is it possible that not only is your map real, but that it leads to one of these ships? Or is it merely a product of the fertile imaginations of sailors who for hundreds of years heard tales of sunken ships laden with gold and treasure? I can not be certain on either account, but I shall continue my research and search for the Truth nonetheless.
Yours,
Dr. Randolph W. Spivey
"This has to do with the map you showed us, correct?" Nigel asked.
"Exactly. Are you interested?"
"Of course!"
"It occurs to me," Artimis said, "that to search for sunken treasure of this sort, we're likely to need some resources. A sizeable ship, a crew, etc. We'll most likely need some backing."
"The sort of backing that rich people who look to hire people to protect them could provide," he finished, gesturing towards Nigel's letter.
Nigel grinned again. "Shall we meet at Scotland Yard in the morning, then?"
"I'll see you then," Artimis responded.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
