The Golden Key: From the Casebook of Nigel Spenser (Updated 9/16)
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Nice to see you, Eridanis! And welcome to the thread, Amy (and to the boards)!
I hope to get a new update up later this evening, in which we take stuff from bad guys, and then give it back, and we learn that Nigel is hiding something. Later on, we will learn that Artimis is hiding several somethings, and Doctor Holmes has a whole closet full of skeletons, but that's further into the future.
I hope to get a new update up later this evening, in which we take stuff from bad guys, and then give it back, and we learn that Nigel is hiding something. Later on, we will learn that Artimis is hiding several somethings, and Doctor Holmes has a whole closet full of skeletons, but that's further into the future.
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Phew, long update - by my standards at least!
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Orla's stare cut right through Nigel. A quick look in the room revealed that it was a storeroom, which was quickly ransacked for its contents.
"Shouldn't we take care of the thugs in this place first, and then loot?" Doctor Holmes asked.
"If you plunder first," Orla replied, "We don't have to stop when we flee."
Artimis Swain decided that the dogs behind the door needed to be addressed. Sandor was skeptical.
"I can make them see reason," Artimis explained. "I have a way with animals."
He stepped back into the foyer, and untied the rope, and opened the doors just a bit to see. Sandor shook his head and turned back to the storeroom. He paused as he heard the sounds of growling, followed by the slamming of a door, and then a large impact.
Artimis lept into the hall, and slammed that door shut behind him, moving a chest of drawers in front of it to further block it.
"Those aren't dogs," he explained, the color drained from his face. "They looked like someone had peeled the skin back from their faces!"
"See, next time you will listen to me," Sandor explained. They turned their attention to the others.
The storeroom gave up a grappling hook, some rope, two vials of Alchemist's Fire, and two vials of an indeterminite clear liquid. Orla found a nice rapier which she stowed in the folds of her cloak as a backup to her own blade.
With bags filled with other people's possessions, the investigators addressed a pair of double doors across the hall from the storeroom.
Sandor knelt by the right hand door. "I smell smoke," he said, puzzled.
Doctor Holmes narrowed his eyes and breathed in the vapor from under the door.
"It's an alchemical smoke," he said. "Probably meant to obscure our sight once we open the door."
"So you're saying we're about to face a fight?"
"Likely."
"Perfect," she said, drawing her rapier.
Nigel and Orla threw open the doors into the room. They were greeted by a wall of smoke which billowed towards them. No sign of fire presented itself, and Nigel drew his axes and advanced along the right-hand wall while Orla took the left. Sandor, Artimis, and Doctor Holmes cautiously stepped in behind them.
Nigel could tell that the room was higher in the center. It appeared to be two stories, with a balcony above that wrapped around the entire room. He could not yet see a stair, and so he continued his approach along the right-hand wall until he could barely make a shape out, ahead of him and above. An eddy of smoke curled like a snake as a crossbow bolt cut through it, striking Nigel in the shoulder.
To his left, he could barely make out a shape that he thought was Orla rushing through the smoke, leaving a swirl of choking vapors behind her. The smoke was beginning to settle, and Nigel could begin to see the stairs, and he reacted quickly, dashing up them, not far behind the fencing instructor. The stairs climbed the far end of the room and then split, with a subsequent stair to both the left and right. The wooden stairs creaked under the strain of their advance.
Orla came face to face with a pale-haired, rapier-wielding man on the left-hand side. A quick jab sent him running down the balcony, fleeing for his life, though he drew blood from Orla as well. Nigel came face to face with his assailant on the right hand side, a dark-haired woman with a crossbow. She let another bolt fly, this one flying wide, past Nigel's ear. Nigel stepped forward, and the steps under his feet gave way. The last four steps collapsed, leaving a four foot gap. Nigel regained his balance nimbly, and adjusted tactics quickly. He let fly with both axes, throwing both at once. One thudded into the wall behind the woman, but the other hit her squarely in the side.
Artimis and Sandor advanced down the center of the room towards the stairs, while Doctor Holmes approached along the left-hand wall. The dark-haired woman facing Nigel fled, cutting a rope tied to the wall as she ran. The rope was all that was suspending a chandelier previously unseen in the smoke and darkness, which plummeted toward Artimis and Sandor. The investigators dove to either side, and Doctor Holmes stepped out from under the balcony, targeting the woman with an incantation. She collapsed as she ran, fast asleep.
Orla had stopped to quaff a healing draught before pursuing the rapier-weilding man, and he took advantage of the lead gained to dash through a door, and an audible locking noise could be heard from the other side.
Nigel weighed his options. The second floor of the house, he had seen from outside, was divided into two sections. Between the two ran a short walkway, almost like a widow's walk. The man must be making his way across there to the other side, where it was likely he would have a better defensive position.
Nigel summoned up his strength, and lept the gap, up and across the last four steps that had fallen to the floor below. He snatched both his axes, one from the wall and one from the floor, and ran across the balcony until he reached the opposite side, near where Orla was.
A window was there, one that looked onto the widow's walk, and Nigel threw himself through it. He saw that he had guessed rightly, as the man was rushing across the walkway to a door that would lead him to the second floor of the coachhouse. Nigel picked himself up off the peaked roof where he fell, blood streaming from myriad cuts from the window glass. He watched helplessly as the man reached the door.
Behind Nigel, Sandor calmly stepped through the shattered window, and threw one dagger at the fleeing man. It flew true, and caught him in the middle of the back. He dropped, his hand almost to the knob of the door.
The investigators gathered up their fallen foes, and examined them. The pale-haired man, who appeared to be elfborn, was not mortally wounded, and the dark-haired woman was merely asleep. Orla grabbed the pale-haired man's rapier.
"Just how many of those can you use?" Artimis asked.
Orla ignored him.
"I will help with tying up ze lady," Sandor suggested helpfully.
A quick search of the two turned up an unusual dagger, and some bolts that appeared to be enchanted. The dagger bore a coat of arms, three red griffon heads on a black field, with an horizontal gold band dividing the field in two. The blade of the dagger was made of an iridescent metal, which Doctor Holmes suggested was an electrum and mithril composite.
The woman was beginning to wake. Doctor Holmes knelt by her side, and pulled out his bag.
"I am a doctor," he explained. "Allow me to cast a curative spell on you."
She nodded, nervously looking up at Nigel and Orla.
The Doctor finished his incantation. He grinned a devious grin.
"I've charmed her. And since she thought she was being helped, she was unable to resist it."
Orla looked down at her.
"Are you Cyranthus?"
"No."
"Is he?"
"No…"
"Great," Artimis said. "We're not done here yet."
They left the two tied up, and crossed the walkway. Sandor decided to try to climb around to the coachhouse window while Orla and Nigel simply kicked down the door. They found several more deathly ill Green Daggers, some of whom appeared to already be dead. There seemed to be no door out of this room, but Nigel and Orla both knew there must be one.
As they searched, Sandor, tried to pry the window open. Finally he just decided to smash it with the butt of a dagger. His first blow was not solid, and a voice came from inside the room.
"If you must enter, at least do not destroy any more of my home!"
Sandor could hear the window latch drawn back, and he opened the window. He carefully climbed in and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
Two small figures watched his movements like hawks. They were halflings, armored and armed, and they appeared to be identical twins.
"Uh, ve are with the health department," Sandor explained unconvincingly. "We are here to help, yes?"
A match was struck in the darkness behind the twins, and a candle flared up. It's light revealed an elf, pale of hair and thin of figure, dressed in a sleeping gown and hat.
"Yes, of course," he answered condescendingly. "I'm sure you are."
"Yes," Sandor continued. "You have some very sick people here. We can help."
"Why don't you tell me what you want," the elf replied, sounding very tired.
"He's not entirely misleading you," came a voice from the darkness, behind the elf. Nigel and Orla had finally found the secret passage that led to the room, and entered, followed by Artimis and Doctor Holmes.
"We do have a doctor with us. We really don't care about you or your minions. Our only concern is with certain items you've acquired. We might be able to come to some sort of arrangement."
"I presume you are Cyranthus?"
"Yes. And who told you where to find me?"
"Iron Tusk. He was quiet helpful." Nigel stepped foreward into the candle light.
"I'm sure he was," Cyrathus replied wearily, settling down into a leather armchair. He looked up at Nigel, and he started, suddenly wary and alert.
"Wait!" he cried out. "I know you! This is some kind of game!"
Nigel recoiled, going pale. He clenched his fists, and met Cyranthus' gaze with a steely resolve of his own.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Tell him – tell him we're paid up!"
"I said I don't know what you're talking about."
Cyranthus relaxed, and sank back into hs armchair with a slight grin playing across his lips.
"So what are you here for?"
Orla took her eyes off of Nigel and turned to the elf.
"A key, and a book. You had them stolen, and gave them to a priest. He probably told you he would help you. Doesn't seem like it worked, does it?"
Cyranthus could hardly disguise the disgust in his voice. "No, it certainly did not. The priest told me he could save us."
"We can help," Nigel said.
Cyranthus turned back to him, his wariness gone, but the grin grew wider.
"You really do look just like him," he said, almost taunting him. "You have his eyes."
Nigel grew silent again, and stepped back into the darkness.
"Can you tell us anything about this priest?" Sandor asked.
"He was a man in his late twenties, dark hair, brown eyes, " Cyranthus replied. "English. Very cultured. He wore a black robe, a priest of the Raven, I think that means."
"How long before he came to see you did your men get sick?" Doctor Holmes asked.
"Perhaps a week."
"Anything else?"
Cyranthus paused for a long while before answering. "Yes. Two things. His name was Altamaic. And more oddly… His robe was too short."
"What?" Orla asked.
"It was a good six inches too short. He seemed a cultured sort, so it was odd his robe didn't fit well. It didn't really occur to me at the time, but now, it seems strange."
Artimis stepped forward. "I have helped your men as much as I can. I think they will get better. We will return tomorrow evening to check on them, and to see if you have remembered anything more."
As Artimis turned to leave, Sandor grabbed his elbow.
"This means I am going to have to give back ze dagger, yes?" Artimis nodded.
The investigators left one by one. Nigel was last, unnoticed in the darkness of Cyranthus' room. Finally he turned to leave as well, but stopped at the door to the secret passage.
He paused for a long time, and then turned back to the elf.
"I would appreciate it," he said in calmly measured tones, "if you didn't mention this to my father."
Cyranthus wry grin returned.
"Perhaps, we can come to some sort of arrangement," he replied.
"Shouldn't we take care of the thugs in this place first, and then loot?" Doctor Holmes asked.
"If you plunder first," Orla replied, "We don't have to stop when we flee."
Artimis Swain decided that the dogs behind the door needed to be addressed. Sandor was skeptical.
"I can make them see reason," Artimis explained. "I have a way with animals."
He stepped back into the foyer, and untied the rope, and opened the doors just a bit to see. Sandor shook his head and turned back to the storeroom. He paused as he heard the sounds of growling, followed by the slamming of a door, and then a large impact.
Artimis lept into the hall, and slammed that door shut behind him, moving a chest of drawers in front of it to further block it.
"Those aren't dogs," he explained, the color drained from his face. "They looked like someone had peeled the skin back from their faces!"
"See, next time you will listen to me," Sandor explained. They turned their attention to the others.
The storeroom gave up a grappling hook, some rope, two vials of Alchemist's Fire, and two vials of an indeterminite clear liquid. Orla found a nice rapier which she stowed in the folds of her cloak as a backup to her own blade.
With bags filled with other people's possessions, the investigators addressed a pair of double doors across the hall from the storeroom.
Sandor knelt by the right hand door. "I smell smoke," he said, puzzled.
Doctor Holmes narrowed his eyes and breathed in the vapor from under the door.
"It's an alchemical smoke," he said. "Probably meant to obscure our sight once we open the door."
"So you're saying we're about to face a fight?"
"Likely."
"Perfect," she said, drawing her rapier.
Nigel and Orla threw open the doors into the room. They were greeted by a wall of smoke which billowed towards them. No sign of fire presented itself, and Nigel drew his axes and advanced along the right-hand wall while Orla took the left. Sandor, Artimis, and Doctor Holmes cautiously stepped in behind them.
Nigel could tell that the room was higher in the center. It appeared to be two stories, with a balcony above that wrapped around the entire room. He could not yet see a stair, and so he continued his approach along the right-hand wall until he could barely make a shape out, ahead of him and above. An eddy of smoke curled like a snake as a crossbow bolt cut through it, striking Nigel in the shoulder.
To his left, he could barely make out a shape that he thought was Orla rushing through the smoke, leaving a swirl of choking vapors behind her. The smoke was beginning to settle, and Nigel could begin to see the stairs, and he reacted quickly, dashing up them, not far behind the fencing instructor. The stairs climbed the far end of the room and then split, with a subsequent stair to both the left and right. The wooden stairs creaked under the strain of their advance.
Orla came face to face with a pale-haired, rapier-wielding man on the left-hand side. A quick jab sent him running down the balcony, fleeing for his life, though he drew blood from Orla as well. Nigel came face to face with his assailant on the right hand side, a dark-haired woman with a crossbow. She let another bolt fly, this one flying wide, past Nigel's ear. Nigel stepped forward, and the steps under his feet gave way. The last four steps collapsed, leaving a four foot gap. Nigel regained his balance nimbly, and adjusted tactics quickly. He let fly with both axes, throwing both at once. One thudded into the wall behind the woman, but the other hit her squarely in the side.
Artimis and Sandor advanced down the center of the room towards the stairs, while Doctor Holmes approached along the left-hand wall. The dark-haired woman facing Nigel fled, cutting a rope tied to the wall as she ran. The rope was all that was suspending a chandelier previously unseen in the smoke and darkness, which plummeted toward Artimis and Sandor. The investigators dove to either side, and Doctor Holmes stepped out from under the balcony, targeting the woman with an incantation. She collapsed as she ran, fast asleep.
Orla had stopped to quaff a healing draught before pursuing the rapier-weilding man, and he took advantage of the lead gained to dash through a door, and an audible locking noise could be heard from the other side.
Nigel weighed his options. The second floor of the house, he had seen from outside, was divided into two sections. Between the two ran a short walkway, almost like a widow's walk. The man must be making his way across there to the other side, where it was likely he would have a better defensive position.
Nigel summoned up his strength, and lept the gap, up and across the last four steps that had fallen to the floor below. He snatched both his axes, one from the wall and one from the floor, and ran across the balcony until he reached the opposite side, near where Orla was.
A window was there, one that looked onto the widow's walk, and Nigel threw himself through it. He saw that he had guessed rightly, as the man was rushing across the walkway to a door that would lead him to the second floor of the coachhouse. Nigel picked himself up off the peaked roof where he fell, blood streaming from myriad cuts from the window glass. He watched helplessly as the man reached the door.
Behind Nigel, Sandor calmly stepped through the shattered window, and threw one dagger at the fleeing man. It flew true, and caught him in the middle of the back. He dropped, his hand almost to the knob of the door.
The investigators gathered up their fallen foes, and examined them. The pale-haired man, who appeared to be elfborn, was not mortally wounded, and the dark-haired woman was merely asleep. Orla grabbed the pale-haired man's rapier.
"Just how many of those can you use?" Artimis asked.
Orla ignored him.
"I will help with tying up ze lady," Sandor suggested helpfully.
A quick search of the two turned up an unusual dagger, and some bolts that appeared to be enchanted. The dagger bore a coat of arms, three red griffon heads on a black field, with an horizontal gold band dividing the field in two. The blade of the dagger was made of an iridescent metal, which Doctor Holmes suggested was an electrum and mithril composite.
The woman was beginning to wake. Doctor Holmes knelt by her side, and pulled out his bag.
"I am a doctor," he explained. "Allow me to cast a curative spell on you."
She nodded, nervously looking up at Nigel and Orla.
The Doctor finished his incantation. He grinned a devious grin.
"I've charmed her. And since she thought she was being helped, she was unable to resist it."
Orla looked down at her.
"Are you Cyranthus?"
"No."
"Is he?"
"No…"
"Great," Artimis said. "We're not done here yet."
They left the two tied up, and crossed the walkway. Sandor decided to try to climb around to the coachhouse window while Orla and Nigel simply kicked down the door. They found several more deathly ill Green Daggers, some of whom appeared to already be dead. There seemed to be no door out of this room, but Nigel and Orla both knew there must be one.
As they searched, Sandor, tried to pry the window open. Finally he just decided to smash it with the butt of a dagger. His first blow was not solid, and a voice came from inside the room.
"If you must enter, at least do not destroy any more of my home!"
Sandor could hear the window latch drawn back, and he opened the window. He carefully climbed in and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
Two small figures watched his movements like hawks. They were halflings, armored and armed, and they appeared to be identical twins.
"Uh, ve are with the health department," Sandor explained unconvincingly. "We are here to help, yes?"
A match was struck in the darkness behind the twins, and a candle flared up. It's light revealed an elf, pale of hair and thin of figure, dressed in a sleeping gown and hat.
"Yes, of course," he answered condescendingly. "I'm sure you are."
"Yes," Sandor continued. "You have some very sick people here. We can help."
"Why don't you tell me what you want," the elf replied, sounding very tired.
"He's not entirely misleading you," came a voice from the darkness, behind the elf. Nigel and Orla had finally found the secret passage that led to the room, and entered, followed by Artimis and Doctor Holmes.
"We do have a doctor with us. We really don't care about you or your minions. Our only concern is with certain items you've acquired. We might be able to come to some sort of arrangement."
"I presume you are Cyranthus?"
"Yes. And who told you where to find me?"
"Iron Tusk. He was quiet helpful." Nigel stepped foreward into the candle light.
"I'm sure he was," Cyrathus replied wearily, settling down into a leather armchair. He looked up at Nigel, and he started, suddenly wary and alert.
"Wait!" he cried out. "I know you! This is some kind of game!"
Nigel recoiled, going pale. He clenched his fists, and met Cyranthus' gaze with a steely resolve of his own.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Tell him – tell him we're paid up!"
"I said I don't know what you're talking about."
Cyranthus relaxed, and sank back into hs armchair with a slight grin playing across his lips.
"So what are you here for?"
Orla took her eyes off of Nigel and turned to the elf.
"A key, and a book. You had them stolen, and gave them to a priest. He probably told you he would help you. Doesn't seem like it worked, does it?"
Cyranthus could hardly disguise the disgust in his voice. "No, it certainly did not. The priest told me he could save us."
"We can help," Nigel said.
Cyranthus turned back to him, his wariness gone, but the grin grew wider.
"You really do look just like him," he said, almost taunting him. "You have his eyes."
Nigel grew silent again, and stepped back into the darkness.
"Can you tell us anything about this priest?" Sandor asked.
"He was a man in his late twenties, dark hair, brown eyes, " Cyranthus replied. "English. Very cultured. He wore a black robe, a priest of the Raven, I think that means."
"How long before he came to see you did your men get sick?" Doctor Holmes asked.
"Perhaps a week."
"Anything else?"
Cyranthus paused for a long while before answering. "Yes. Two things. His name was Altamaic. And more oddly… His robe was too short."
"What?" Orla asked.
"It was a good six inches too short. He seemed a cultured sort, so it was odd his robe didn't fit well. It didn't really occur to me at the time, but now, it seems strange."
Artimis stepped forward. "I have helped your men as much as I can. I think they will get better. We will return tomorrow evening to check on them, and to see if you have remembered anything more."
As Artimis turned to leave, Sandor grabbed his elbow.
"This means I am going to have to give back ze dagger, yes?" Artimis nodded.
The investigators left one by one. Nigel was last, unnoticed in the darkness of Cyranthus' room. Finally he turned to leave as well, but stopped at the door to the secret passage.
He paused for a long time, and then turned back to the elf.
"I would appreciate it," he said in calmly measured tones, "if you didn't mention this to my father."
Cyranthus wry grin returned.
"Perhaps, we can come to some sort of arrangement," he replied.
Last edited:
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
A short update, perchance?
Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Thomas Peabody whistled a jaunty tune to himself, sitting at his desk in his posh office in Lloyd's of London's offices at the Royal Exchange on a fine, sunny, winter morning. He was balancing ledgers, and he found doing so to be immensely relaxing, especially when he was using the black ink to mark payments and amounts owed to Lloyd's. Being exceptionally miserly with Lloyd's accounts, he invariably used far more black ink than red. He turned a page and continued on his merry task.
A knock came at the door, and his secretary leaned into the office.
"Orla Taoiseach here to see you, sir," he explained, unnecessarily, as Orla strode into the room neither needing or waiting for an introduction. Nigel Spenser waited just outside the door, leaning on the door frame as Orla presented herself before Peabody.
Peabody scarcely looked up, dipping his quill in ink and making notations and hardly acknowledging the fencing instructor's presence.
"Yes, Miss Taoiseach? Is there something I can help you with?"
He could hardly have sounded less helpful if he had tried. Orla smiled, and pulled out a small notebook of her own.
"Actually, yes," she replied. "This matter of the golden key has begun to become rather expensive. I've had to use up a number of mystical ointments, salves, and potions, and I think Lloyd's of London should reimburse me for those expenses. An expense account, to be blunt."
Peabody didn't even look up. "If I recall correctly, and I almost always do, we came to an agreement on the amount you were to be paid. It is not my business if your budgets do not add up, Miss Taoiseach."
Orla's eyes narrowed. Nigel stepped in before she could respond.
"Let me ask you this, Mister Peabody," he began. "Does Lloyd's have any accounts with the British Museum?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Peabody answered, still not looking up from his books.
"It is possible that the matter of the key may be related to another matter, that of an old manuscript stolen from the British Museum at around the same time. The History of John Uskglass."
Peabody looked up at Nigel and Orla. He looked past them to his secretary, and gave him a nod. The young man vanished down the hall, and soon returned with an account folder. Peabody looked through the folder, and a scowl crossed his face.
Orla grinned. "Since the two cases are apparently related, it would make sense to fold them into one team's responsibilities. For a suitably increased fee."
Peabody squinted at her over his spectacles.
"Perhaps. Three hundred pounds more."
"Four hundred."
Peabody groaned.
"In advance, of course. Plus an expense allowance. I assume that Lloyd's has accounts with the Artificer's Guild?"
Peabody took his head in his hands. "How much?"
"Oh, I think around five hundred should do."
"Each."
Peabody glared at Orla. He simply nodded his assent.
"Oh, and also.."
Peabody twitched slightly. Nigel stepped up and took Orla's elbow.
"Declare victory and move on, Orla," he whispered in her ear, as they left.
Peabody composed himself, and opened the top right drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh bottle of red ink.
He hated winter in London.
A knock came at the door, and his secretary leaned into the office.
"Orla Taoiseach here to see you, sir," he explained, unnecessarily, as Orla strode into the room neither needing or waiting for an introduction. Nigel Spenser waited just outside the door, leaning on the door frame as Orla presented herself before Peabody.
Peabody scarcely looked up, dipping his quill in ink and making notations and hardly acknowledging the fencing instructor's presence.
"Yes, Miss Taoiseach? Is there something I can help you with?"
He could hardly have sounded less helpful if he had tried. Orla smiled, and pulled out a small notebook of her own.
"Actually, yes," she replied. "This matter of the golden key has begun to become rather expensive. I've had to use up a number of mystical ointments, salves, and potions, and I think Lloyd's of London should reimburse me for those expenses. An expense account, to be blunt."
Peabody didn't even look up. "If I recall correctly, and I almost always do, we came to an agreement on the amount you were to be paid. It is not my business if your budgets do not add up, Miss Taoiseach."
Orla's eyes narrowed. Nigel stepped in before she could respond.
"Let me ask you this, Mister Peabody," he began. "Does Lloyd's have any accounts with the British Museum?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Peabody answered, still not looking up from his books.
"It is possible that the matter of the key may be related to another matter, that of an old manuscript stolen from the British Museum at around the same time. The History of John Uskglass."
Peabody looked up at Nigel and Orla. He looked past them to his secretary, and gave him a nod. The young man vanished down the hall, and soon returned with an account folder. Peabody looked through the folder, and a scowl crossed his face.
Orla grinned. "Since the two cases are apparently related, it would make sense to fold them into one team's responsibilities. For a suitably increased fee."
Peabody squinted at her over his spectacles.
"Perhaps. Three hundred pounds more."
"Four hundred."
Peabody groaned.
"In advance, of course. Plus an expense allowance. I assume that Lloyd's has accounts with the Artificer's Guild?"
Peabody took his head in his hands. "How much?"
"Oh, I think around five hundred should do."
"Each."
Peabody glared at Orla. He simply nodded his assent.
"Oh, and also.."
Peabody twitched slightly. Nigel stepped up and took Orla's elbow.
"Declare victory and move on, Orla," he whispered in her ear, as they left.
Peabody composed himself, and opened the top right drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh bottle of red ink.
He hated winter in London.
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HalfOrc HalfBiscuit
Adventurer
I'm caught up again. (I think I'm trying to read too many storyhours ... :\ ).
Anyway, still really enjoying this Kid C. A highly original setting and good solid writing. Keep it up, I'm looking forward to more.
Anyway, still really enjoying this Kid C. A highly original setting and good solid writing. Keep it up, I'm looking forward to more.