The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0)

by Peter J. Wacks

  Wilson considered this with mock seriousness. “This is true. Am I correct to presume that you are taking notes on the subject?”

  “Meticulously,” said Rufus. With a loud flap, he partitioned himself behind the periodical.

  “This is all very well and good,” interjected Niles, “but if I wished to be the subject of third party conversation, then I would have done something far more interesting than follow my physician’s instructions. Might we progress the conversation to something a bit more inclusive?” He spoke these last words as he sat at the table and signaled that the waitress should bring him food.

  When Niles had completed eating his portions, the five Fellows departed the comfort of the Inn. Because the rain had passed, they decided to forego hiring transport, and instead, took in the city by foot. This was not a hardship as they did not have far to walk. The establishment they sought was located in the general vicinity of the Exchange. It was a small venue tucked within a nook near the corner of Richmond Row and the Scotland Road. It is entirely possible that they would have overlooked the venue had they not been informed as they were. There was no sign above the door, and there was no window to be seen. The only outward indication that this door was different from any other was a small iron medallion that had been nailed to its center.

  Wilson leaned in to peer at the tiny writing that ringed the medallion and traced it gently with his fingertip. “The Theosophical Order of the Natural Order.”

  Sneering, Niles turned to his companions. “Apparently even malefactors can be redundant.”

  Entry Six

  Pushing upon the door and finding it open, the Fellows entered the venue boldly. The foyer of the building was dark, cloaked in shadowy mysticism, and the walls were covered by thin cloth tapestries of various colors. The strong scent of incense clung to the thinly clouded air. Rufus coughed slightly and waved his hand in front of his face. Niles looked positively green, either from the odor or the pompous mystery.

  As they acquired their bearings and decided for themselves that it was not quite what they had been expecting, a man entered the room through a curtained-off doorway, which added to the sense that the room was intentioned to be more like a tent in some encampment than a foyer for a respectable enterprise. Shorter than even their shortest member, the man wore well-made, bespoke robes, the collar of which was high upon his neck. His hair was shorn short, nearly bald as if to give him the guise of an acolyte of a monastic order.

  “Welcome,” said the man, in a deep, resonating voice. “I am the Guardian.”

  “Is your function here to protect the Magi?” inquired Wilson.

  The Guardian shook his head. “I protect this benighted world from the blinding light of glorious revelation bursting forth from the Magi like the water that sprang from the rock that Moses smote in the desert.” He pantomimed this miraculous eruption in a flamboyant fashion. Weyland stifled a laugh, attempting to disguise it as a cough. Niles rolled his eyes and only barely seemed to be stifling a yawn, while the other three men seemed to be reserving judgment.

  The robed man narrowed his eyes. “The Magi are not to be trifled with. You who would stand in their presence, prepare yourself. In this mystic place, all questions can be revealed, and all things made clear.”

  “Can that barker’s pitch be made clear?” said Weyland quietly, elbowing Friedrich. “Why would anyone want questions to be revealed, rather than answered?”

  “Do not be afraid to speak,” said the Guardian in a patronizing voice. He extended a hand to Weyland with a gesture more appropriate to the Globe Theater than to any quasi-religious organization. “Those who boldly seek shall find, while those who lurk and whisper must remain forever unenlightened.”

  Weyland flushed. “I was only … wondering how this all works.”

  Rufus coughed quietly into his hand, watching the interaction with a look of pensive mistrust on his face.

  The Guardian drew himself up to his full height, opening his eyes very wide and looking down his nose at Weyland. “The Magi,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “see the workings of Nature in the glory of all that is.”

  “That’s a bit cryptic,” said Friedrich, cocking his head to one side. “What exactly does it mean?”

  “Choose the one to enter and learn,” said the Guardian, stepping to one side and sweeping his arms toward the door in the rear of the room. “To all those who desire evidence of their powers, the Magi offer a demonstration … for a small donation. Even the enlightened must tend to the needs of the physical form.”

  “How small?” said Niles, raising one eyebrow.

  “Negligible, I am sure, for a gentleman of means, such as yourself.” The robed man smiled, though in the darkness, his smile seemed more the grin of a predator about to feast.

  Trading glances with the other men, Rufus found himself nominated as the ceremonial scapegoat for this particular venture. If it occurred to them that he had already done a more than fair share of work in monitoring Niles, none mentioned it.

  After a bit of haggling, Niles, being in control of the groups finances, counted out three shillings. The Guardian did not touch the coin but instead made a show of reverently placing the coin within a velvet pouch. He then opened the rear door and Rufus stepped through a series of heavy hanging partitions. The poor illumination in the foyer did little to alleviate the absolute blackness of the room in which he now found himself. At first, it was so dark that he could see nothing. Then came the flare of a match, and a beeswax candle revealed three men in hooded robes. Rufus blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He adjusted his bearing, stiffening his back.

  Three Magi, or men whom he presumed to be so, stood before him, the center standing slightly taller with the remaining two who stood slightly in front of him. They were, all three of them, draped in dark robes with ornate, yet subtle, elaborations of silk along the hems. The robes of the two were black with the embroidery a combination of grey and of the darkest blue, which both shimmered in the candlelight. The Magus in the center was, at first glance, similarly adorned, yet a closer inspection revealed that his robes were the color of a crimson so dark that it appeared at first glance to be black. A deformity, in the form of a hunched back, seemed to ail the man, but Rufus’ trained physician eye noted that his legs were strong and normally shaped, giving lie to the deformity. Despite the deception, Rufus reserved judgment. A tenant of Natural Philosophy was the integration of form and function, and Rufus well understood the need to appear in such a form that those might believe the function.

  In a strong, practiced chant, the man on the right asked, “What brings this one before us? What mystery does he bid the Magi reveal?”

  “This one seeks a sign of power, that he may know the provenance of the great Magi,” was the reply of the Guardian, who now stood behind Rufus.

  The Magus on the left chanted softly and ominously, “The Magi are not to be tested! The Magi are not to be questioned! If doubt clouds your heart, then our truths will be lost to your ears as though they were deaf.”

  Rufus raised an eyebrow, waiting with folded arms. Surely this was not the extent of their charlatanism?

  It appeared to be so, as the Guardian grasped Rufus by the arm and gently pulled him toward the door. Their exit was forestalled when a booming voice proclaimed, “STOP! Leave us with the unbeliever!” It was the central figure, who had, at this time, raised his head to gaze upon Niles.

  His face, while shadowed by the hood of his robe, in a room which was already obscured with partial darkness, possessed an unmistakable quality. The color of his eyes, though barely visible, seemed unnatural, as though they were of a hue not found among men. He continued more softly than he had begun, “We shall bestow upon this one a blessing of prophesy. We shall grant him a glimpse through the veil that he shall bear witness of our powers and know of our ways.”

  The Guardian bowed and quietly departed as the three Magi began to chant a round, using a combination of simple and complex sylla
bles, some of which might have vaguely resembled Latin to the ignorant.

  Rufus knew better, finding very little in common with Latin other than the occasional dropped word and phrase as they chanted, “Abacināre ra, caballicāre ra, dabamus ra quam admirabile est nomen tuum in universa terra.”

  The chanting continued as the men began to move their heads in different directions and with apparently different purposes. Instead of the sole candle that had previously illuminated the room, several lights burst forth from against the wall. The two men on the sides placed their hands out as though they were receiving an offering. Smoke emanated from some unseen sources to fill the room, and then the lights began to change, shifting in both color and intensity.

  First, the lighting that was set against the wall began to shift in several different and incoherent ways. Then, colored lights slowly appeared before spinning and dancing through the room. Finally, a multitude of smaller lights danced wildly across the room, catching the smoke as they glittered through the air with neither rhyme nor reason. This optical scherzo was thoroughly enchanting as it was at once both calming and fundamentally arousing. All the while, the three Magi chanted louder and louder, each taking on a different tone as the whole assumed an odd choral aspect. It was as though Rufus were observing an alien and cryptic compline service.

  The chanting stopped abruptly, and the lights went dark. The room was filled with a pitch of night, deeper than he had ever known. Slowly, the light returned; the flames of the candles which stood against the far wall rose as though newly born. They did not spring to life as though rekindled. Instead, they began to shine as though through an unnatural darkness. The form of each flame whole and mature, but the light which it bore was muffled and stunted. Slowly, they shone stronger, and brighter, until the room was bathed in the full and appropriate light.

  The silence that consumed the room during this transition was extraordinary. The three robed men stood, as they had before. Their heads were bowed and their arms were tucked within the sleeves of their voluminous robes. After a space, the central Magus spoke into this silence, raising his arms into the air as a Priest would before bestowing the sacraments.

  “From the Hills below, the Black Rock is seen. Beside the Hall of the Sandfield, this wisdom you’ll glean. The maiden of birds will be flocked by the crows, and while he is rebuffing this, the truth you will know.”

  He then lowered his arms and bowed his head once more, assuming the same stance as those beside him. The three of them stood still and silent. They did not move, and they did not answer when Rufus questioned them further. After a moment, the door which led to the front of the venue opened, and the Guardian entered in his high-collared robe. He then escorted the somewhat befuddled Rufus from the chamber and returned him to his Fellows.

  Entry Seven

  Upon exiting the room, Rufus spoke cautiously with his Fellows, not willing to show them how disconcerted the entire experience had left him. It was not that he believed, any more than he had previously, but rather it unnerved him that they had found a means of creating such an illusion that his intellect had not been able to pierce it. Frowning, he led the way from the building, feeling all the while the smirk of the Guardian at their backs.

  The Fellows walked east along the London Road, toward the Botanic Garden, while Niles routinely looked behind to see if they were followed. After a few short blocks, satisfied that they were let to leave unscathed, he stopped his colleagues and pulled them to the side of the walk. There, they formed a small crowd as men and women with their escorts walked past them, eyeing them. Niles looked his physician squarely in the eye. “Out with it, man. You look worse than I normally do after a night on the town.”

  After bestowing upon them the lengthy account of what he had observed, Rufus stated, “I was given a riddle, cryptic and not well formed, but one which I believe they intend for us to investigate. I made a point of memorizing it. ‘From the Hills below, the Blackr Rock is seen. Beside the Hall of the Sandfield, this wisdom you’ll glean. The maiden of birds will be flocked by the crows, and while he is rebuffing this, the truth you will know.’”

  Wilson stroked his chin. “Do you have any idea what this is supposed to mean?”

  “None.” Rufus spread his hands.

  “The Black Rock is small jetty within the channel,” said Weyland. “It sits north of New Brighton. It is most notable for the light house which was built atop it. It is only accessible during low tide; much like Mont Saint-Michel, it becomes an island at high tide.”

  “That is interesting,” noted Rufus drily, “but what good does it do us?”

  Weyland held up both index fingers, closing his eyes. “‘From the hills below, the Black Rock is seen.’ Terms such as up and down are sometimes used as references to the cardinal directions. If we pursue this possibility, then down would be south. South of Black Rock is New Brighton. In New Brighton is a place called Sandfield Hall.”

  “How do you know this?” Wilson asked.

  Niles spoke up before Weyland could answer. “The Weyland Consortium does a decent amount of business in Liverpool. The cotton industry here is the largest in all of Britain. It is also the closest source of raw material to their primary production facility. All of which is to say that the Weyland Consortium purchases a good deal of cotton and other products from the local markets and ships them to the factories for production. Cotton is an important element in the construction of balloon shells. I have accompanied both Rufus’ and Weyland’s fathers when inspecting the supplies and brokering new contracts, although I am uncertain how, or why it is that he knows so much about the local geography.”

  “It is a hobby of mine, dear boy,” said Weyland. “I enjoy reviewing navigational charts and had a fond impression of the lighthouse on my first trip. It is, however, a matter of pure happenstance that I know of Sandfield Hall. I will say this, however, the hall stands next to a place called the Leasowe Sand Hills. Unless I am mistaken, this ought to give us a view of the lighthouse.”

  Rufus grunted, satisfied. “Let us be on our way then. We have ventured this far, let us see if what these ‘magi’ say is true.”

  “I agree.” Friedrich nodded. “We can attempt to deconstruct what Rufus observed, but the best way to know for certain that they are hucksters is to test what they have proclaimed.”

  Weyland shook his head, surprising his Fellows. “To what end? Let us assume that they are rapscallions. Would it not be proper to assume that they would prophesy only that which they could guarantee to occur?”

  “Perhaps,” Wilson admitted, “but I argue that we should not presume that their prophecy will be fulfilled. Let us test their words first. If it is the case that these words come true, then let us address the issue then. If instead we find the opposite, then again we can address the issue appropriately.”

  Niles clapped his hands together. “It is settled then. Come along, gentlemen. Let us do that for which we have come.”

  Entry Eight

  While on their way to the docks to board a ferry, the Fellows passed near the canning district and through the slave market. The market itself was not as grand as it had once been—a fact which was due mostly to the concerted efforts of the abolitionists—and was rather sparsely occupied. Slavery was, and had been for some years, a socially disdained practice in Britain. While the practice had not been outlawed as many had hoped, the sale of new slaves in Britain proper was largely illegal, with a few notable exceptions having been made for defense critical industries.

  Due however to the terms of the Pax Britanica, these laws did not extend to the whole of the empire. As such, the market existed now for the primary purpose of serving as an exchange for goods which were to be shipped to those parts of the empire which had retained the practice.

  At the edge of the market, they were accosted by a merchant hawking his wares to the passersby. “What of you, sir?” said he, pointing at Weyland. “Yes, you in the fine hat! Every gentleman should be afforded the opport
unity to witness greatness. Step forward, sir, and I shall show you first-hand the wonders of this remarkable device.”

  Curious, Weyland stepped forward. Niles for his part rolled his eyes.

  The hawker walked around him in a circle, patting him on the shoulders. “Yes, yes, very good, very good. You look to be an adventuring sort. Have you ever considered what might happen if you were to be separated from your colleagues, whether it be on the road, in a storm, or while running a fox?” It was not a question meant to be answered, and Weyland’s attempt to reply to it was futile as he was immediately overrun by the hawker’s banter.

  “In such times, a man might become bothered.” The hawker now held up his index finger, waggling it just under Weyland’s nose. “Now I say man, sir, for I speak of normal, ordinary men. I tell by the look of you that you are no such ordinary man, but I say to you, sir, that an ordinary man might become distraught if he were to be displaced and dislodged from the company of his fellows. Should such a man—not you, sir, not you—find himself in such a predicament then this here device would be in small part handy.”

  The hawker produced a hexagonal brass curio about twice the diameter of an ordinary compass or pocket watch. “As you can see, this—the Wilson and Dixon mono-polar signaler—combines all of the aspects of lesser devices that one might need to overcome such a hypothetical situation. I can see that you are not convinced by the wonders of the Wilson and Dixon engineers, so allow me to show you, sir, how this wonder functions.”

  He opened the signaler and held it up, first for Weyland and then for the other Fellows to behold. “By utilizing its unique features, one—not such as yourself for you are far too savvy to come upon its need—but one I say could call upon his fellows by using the signal to give an auditory indication of his position. In like fashion, any other member of the displaced troupe could do the same, and in short order they would be rejoined again … hopefully with a fox in hand!”