THE VIATIC OF THADDEUS MOON
By
Ashley Hewitt
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PUBLISHED BY:
The Viatic of Thaddeus Moon
Copyright © 2013 by Ashley Hewitt
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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THE VIATIC OF THADDEUS MOON
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He was certain he was in London. It smelled like London. The unmistakable aroma of horse droppings and week old garbage burrowed its way through his nostrils and into his mouth, leaving his tongue bitter. It took a single whiff to jolt him back into the world. As he blinked his eyes open, all of his surroundings melted into focus.
His wrists were cold and heavy. It was, without a doubt, the unfortunate side effect of the iron shackles that had somehow come to adorn them. They were attached to chains threaded through two iron hooks screwed into a thick wooden table. Though the chains showed signs of rust, they were sturdy, and he could tell that no amount of trickery or strength could force them to give way. He was unsure of the incident that led him to his current predicament, but he figured it was, like so many predicaments for so many other men, about a woman.
As soon as he could see clearly, the first sight to catch his eye was the puddle forming on the stone floor as water leaked in from somewhere unknown. The rhythm of the drips beating against the stone mirrored that of a drummer leading the march to war. His gaze shifted upward when the floorboards above him began to creak with the high-pitched shriek of old wood. Boots, he believed, large and heavy.
“Well,” he muttered. “This is a bit unfortunate.”
He gathered his wits as he sat, immobile and alone. His breath performed a humble dance through the air before dissipating into the quiet. He straightened his posture and prepared himself for what was bound to be the most unpleasant of conversations. As a metal key was jammed into the lock on the heavy wooden door, his ears perked. The wood was old and warped and squealed when it was pushed open.
Thaddeus looked up when the man entered. He was rather stout, his freshly waxed mustache perfectly complimented by neatly trimmed muttonchops. They barely grazed the rounded collar of what appeared to be the uniform of one of London's finest Chief Inspectors.
“Greetings, good sir,” Thaddeus said with a smirk. “Are you the gentleman I have to thank for these splendid lodgings? You certainly spared no expense.”
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked, his voice like sandpaper.
“I believe the only question we should be asking ourselves, dear sir, is do you know who I am?” Thaddeus met his gaze. “And do you offer room service? I have a nasty thirst.”
“You seem to be unaware of your current impasse,” the man responded, taking a seat in the vacant chair across from him. He removed a pistol from the holster at his waist and placed it on the table, aimed in Thaddeus’s direction. “I will ask you again, do you know who I am?”
Thaddeus recognized the pistol as an old Flintlock. The man had one shot and, close as he was, it would certainly be a messy one. “Well, my good man,” he answered, “if I were to judge by the ache in my head and the immaculate condition of your knuckles, I dare say you are the gent that checked me into this fine establishment.”
“Your triviality is unbecoming, Thaddeus Moon.”
“So you do know who I am. If you who I am, then surely you know what follows me. And if you know what follows me, then you know this conversation will be rather brief.”
The man smiled with all the subtlety of a cat turned loose at the fish market. His hubris was unbecoming. “Your partners will not be coming for you this time, boy. My men saw to it that they would be indisposed.”
Thaddeus eyed the pistol. The smell of gunpowder was thick. Too thick, it seemed, for a single pistol. “You killed them,” he stated. “That’s quite alright, Corrothers. I never much cared for them.” He grinned at the Inspector’s astonishment. “Oh yes, sir, I do know who are. All thieves know of the great Constable Corrothers. He is, after all, the wise and honorable man who rose through the ranks the way all wise and honorable men do. Tell me, dear Corrothers, how lonely is your wife these days?”
The crack of the man’s fist splintered the table. “I will have no more of your gum!”
Thaddeus remained unruffled as he heard, in the next room, a muffled thud. “Such a lovely woman to leave so neglected. You do spend far too much time away from home, Corrothers. I’m certain she appreciates all the fine jewels, though. Or did, for a time.”
“Where are they?”
“Dear Inspector, your concern is outmatched only by your charms.”
Corrothers rose to his feet. “I don’t care for your sport, boy. You’ll tell me where you have taken my gold, and you’ll tell me this instant.”
“I have seen your gold,” Thaddeus admitted. “And I have seen your missus. Since it appears that you only see one of these as a crime worth execution, I must insist, then, that I am innocent.”
The inspector picked up his pistol and pulled back on the hammer.
“Very well.” Thaddeus raised his hands in faux surrender. “If you wish to have your riches returned, I have but one minor piece of advice.”
Corrothers lowered the Flintlock just slightly enough for Thaddeus to interpret it as his willingness to humor his proposal.
“I would counsel you, sir, to duck.”
“Your attempts to distract me are admirable, but I am not so easily hoodwinked.” He aimed his pistol once again.
“As you wish.” Thaddeus turned his eyes away and smiled, ferocious and unimpeachable. He could hear the crackle of a fuse burning from the other side of the wall. He shielded his face and closed his eyes.
It was then that Corrothers noticed the sound. Regrettably, his curiosity would be his downfall. He turned toward the direction of the discreet hissing.
The walls began to tremble. Within seconds, they erupted behind the full force of an exploding barrel of gunpowder. In the time it took Thaddeus to reopen his eyes, the room had filled with smoke. The wall lay in dust and pebbles on the floor. Corrothers had been hit directly in the head, knocking him to the ground.
Heavy leather boots crunched over the debris. Through the smoke, Thaddeus recognized the uniform of a low-ranking Constable adorning the figure of a woman. He cleared his throat for breath and spoke through the impenetrable fog. “My dear Ophelia, you always have been able to rustle up a fine shine. Many thanks for the dashing rescue.”
“Thaddeus Moon, ever the damsel in distress, aren’t you?”
“As beautiful a man as I am, you should know it simply can’t be helped.” He lifted his shackled hands. “Perhaps this can be.”
She looked his way and pulled a bobby pin from the hair behind her ears. With the flick of her wrist, she tossed it over to him.
“I must say, blowing up a holding cell underneath Scotland Yard is perhaps the most impressive of your many feats. How did you manage?”
“Amazing isn’t it, how a matching uniform can make you invisible?”
Thaddeus fidgeted with the lock. “Surely they saw you were not one of them.”
“Quite the contrary,” she said. “I looked them all in the eye and not one of them was imaginative enough to think a woman might be coming to your rescue.”
“A tribute to the finer sex,” he pointed out with a smile. “And how did you discover this particular pickle? I’d heard you were in the Indies.”
“You’d be surprised how quickly word trav
els where you’re concerned, my friend.”
“No,” he said, breaking the lock and tossing his shackles to the side. “I think perhaps not, for I am quite fascinating. Did you bring it?”
“I would lie to you, but I’m afraid it would take the haste out of our hasty escape.” Ophelia opened the satchel slung across her chest. From its depths, she pulled out a black leather top hat.
It was beaten and busted and the scarf tied around the bottom had more holes than he’d ever cared to count, but it completed him. When she tossed it to him like a flying disc, he caught it by the brim and placed it directly on his head. “And now, I am ready for my adoring public.”
“The only person who adores you that much is you.”
“Quite true.” He flashed a cocky grin. “You said something about making haste?” He offered his hand.
She clutched it and pulled him toward the door. As they made
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