(no subject)

[trace_of_scarlet]

Gothycke

 

Looking at Threnody Winter, it was hard to tell if she was a librarian or a pirate. In truth, she was neither, but that was nobody’s business but her own, and she ensured it stayed that way. A short, darkly lovely woman who looked far younger than her twenty years, her coal black hair parted at one side and falling sleekly over one eye in front, while at the back of her head two whip-thin plaits emanated from a ponytail; she nonetheless had the brisk, quiet air of a born organiser. The round glasses probably helped, too. In dress, however, she looked distinctly corsair-like: a loose, low-necked white linen shirt with large lapels and cuff, belted with a wide, jade green silk sash. Two slim belts with guns in their holsters crossed as they were slung low over each hip, with wider twins arrayed with various strange-looking implements crossed over her upper body. Loose black trousers were tucked neatly into slim suede leather boots with outsize cuffs, and she carried a large black canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Her face was pale and pointed; her lips full and red and the eyes behind her large round spectacles were wide, deceptively beautiful and a rich blue-grey-green that made you think of storms at sea.

This morning those green eyes snapped with suppressed fury and the red lips were pressed tightly together against an outburst, rendering them –and her- quite ugly. She dozed fitfully in the plush interior of her carriage, and mused upon her possible actions upon arrival.

 

Threnody was broken from her catnap by the shudder of the hansom cab as it pulled up at its destination: Phoenix House, Fleet Street, London, and the driver opened the door. Tipping him handsomely, his basic fees having already been covered by her host, she strode quickly through the fog of the muggy early morning and inside the great building, in search of answers.

Inside, a tall, muscled man in immaculate black-and-white uniform, a discreet gold fire symbol embroidered on his left-hand breast pocket, black hair neatly slicked, immediately materialised at her arm like a black-and-white genie.

“Let me take your coat, Miss Winter. Mr. Moneypenny is in conference; he’ll see you in no more than a quarter of an hour, and apologises for the delay. May I offer you a drink?”

Threnody hid her bad mood admirably; not only would doing otherwise have been rude, she also knew very well that this was a man whom it was exceedingly unwise to cross.

“Ah, thank you Gosling. A small brandy, if you please- I’ve had a hard night.”

“As you wish, Miss Winter.”

The butler bowed and left the room, subtly locking the door behind him. Threnody took in her surroundings; she knew this room, yet its size always surprised her. The room was vast: a third of the size of a football pitch, she estimated, with ceilings at least fifteen feet away from the floors, which were tiled wood lavishly inlaid with woods of other opulent colours. Expensive furniture of dark wood upholstered in various rich shades of green littered the room like doll’s-house pieces scattered by some bored, wealthy giant-child, and several vast fish tanks infested with jewel-like tropical fish were placed at intervals along the walls and in the gaps between the furniture. An enormous candelabra, its multitude of candles glowing not with fire but with the new electric power, lit the room with a powerful, steady beam from its position in the very centre of the ceiling. Threnody sank down thankfully on a plush, bottle-green sofa next to an immense aquarium, opposite a fat, milk-pale man with a pock-marked face who was sweating profusely. After a pause the pretty, curly-haired girl at the desk, typing rapidly, looked over at the newcomer.

“What does Himself want you for, Threnody?” she enquired conversationally. Threnody examined her fingernails complacently.

“It’s more a matter of what I want him for,” she said. “He owes me for that last job- couple of hundred quid, by my reckoning.”

The secretary clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Bad job, that was. Himself was in a right fury when he found out about the court case. Just as well that Hubert Hamilton-Smythe got him off, or that idiot Melchett would have been for it. You know he actually tried to get a p’liceman to help him? As it was though, all’s well that ends well. But be careful how you phrase your- request.” Her typing did not pause one whit. “You know what He’s like about giving out money.”

Threnody admitted with a chuckle that she indeed know what ‘He’ was like. “Remember that time old Charlie Dooright decided he wanted a pay rise? He was lucky to come out of that room alive.”

“Mmm. But they say he does all right now- as well as a man with no legs can, anyway.”

The fat man in the corner whimpered for no apparent reason; both women raised their eyebrows in his general direction.

“What’s eating him?” asked Threnody carelessly.

“Oh, he’s got the appointment after you- and an appointment with the boys afterwards, by all accounts. Apparently he’s under the impression he wishes to leave us, and you know how Himself gets about saying goodbye.”

“Worst goodbye-er I’ve ever seen,” said Threnody seriously. “Far too sentimental about his friends, the old man is. What’s that phrase of his?”

“‘If I can’t have you, no-one can’”, supplied the secretary. “Or is that what he told last week’s girlfriend?”

“If he told her that, then she’s very last week by now,” said Threnody with a chuckle. “As in last week’s obituaries.”

The two girls were still chuckling over that piece of wit when Gosling re-entered with Threnody’s brandy.

“Mr. Moneypenny will see you in five minutes,” he told her. “Miss Pierce, are you requiring anything?”

The secretary held out a hefty file bulging with documents. “Take this to Mr. Smytherby in room three when you have a moment, please. ”

The manservant accepted it. “Swann will see to it, I expect- I’m due for my break.”

Miss Pierce nodded. “See if you can find me a coffee before you do, please?” she requested. “Swann’s coffee leaves something to be desired.”

“Milk, usually,” commented Threnody. “He always seems to feel that just because he drinks his coffee black, so should everyone else.”

“I’ll see to it, miss,” nodded Gosling. Quietly he left the room, once more locking the door. There was silence for a while now, as Miss Pierce resumed her typing and Threnody nursed her drink contemplatively. Eventually she drained her glass, checked her watch and stood up.

“Oh- I almost forgot,” the secretary said suddenly. “The word amongst the staff is that Himself has another job for you and Felix.”

Threnody nodded. “I imagine I’ll be quite safe asking him for the money, then- important assets, and all that.” She looked at her now-empty glass doubtfully. “Any idea what I’m meant to be doing with this?”

“Giving it to me, miss.” A new butler, very like Gosling in looks but with blonde hair, had appeared in the doorway. “I’ll put it on the dumbwaiter, then show you in, Miss Winter.”

He ducked outside for an instant, then back in. “Let me take you through, Miss Winter.”

The secretary flapped a hand in brief farewell, already half-focused on her job as Threnody allowed herself to be shown through a pair of massive, imposing double doors.

 

Unlike the main room, Gilderoy P. J. Moneypenny’s office was small and dark and stank of his favourite cigars; she almost gagged as the pungent gas assaulted her lungs. Like the main room, however, the walls were exceedingly high, and combined with the narrow, dark wood-covered walls gave the impression of being at the bottom of an exceedingly deep pit. The man himself lounged behind the safety of a large, obviously expensive writing desk; a much younger man sprawled in one of two chairs in front of the desk, looking far too big for his seat. This was Theodore Felix Lee, who preferred his middle name to his first and consequently was known as Felix to all but his mother, who insisted on referring to him as ‘dear darling Theodore’- or alternatively ‘that lazy brat of a crotch-dropping’ when the old harridan was particularly peeved with her only child. At six foot seven, Felix was a lanky young man of twenty years, handsome in an awkward, gangly sort of way, with a charming grin, floppy blonde hair and wide, innocent blue eyes fully capable of charming both the birds from the trees and pretty young women (though not Threnody- yet) into bed. He was unflappability masquerading as laziness, and Threnody’s confidant, best friend and sparring partner- both verbal and physical, for beneath the lanky exterior both a sharp mind and brilliant pugilist lurked like a mugger in a dark alley.

Gilderoy Moneypenny, by contrast, looked like a toad too big for the lily-pad on which it squatted, for all his lavishly expensive clothing. At the tender age of fifty-seven, the man had at least four chins, eyebrows that met in the middle- consequently making him look as though a furry black caterpillar had draped itself lovingly over his eyes, which were beady-black and glittered with a grim intelligence- and was at least as wide as he was tall, though this was not much of a feat as he was only ‘five foot four and a brick’, as Threnody’s mother never used to say. He had no wife and no children; a habit of starting many of his sentences with the conjunction ‘now’; no-one knew how he had made his money; and he was known (though not to his face) to his mass of employees as ‘PJ’, an epithet which served to disguise the fact that they were all quietly afraid of him. Now, however, he was at his most charming as he stood to greet her.

                “Ah, my dear Miss Winter,” he welcomed her; Swann quietly bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Mr. Moneypenny, Felix,” she said coolly. “What’s all this about?” Felix, plainly as mystified as she, could only shrug apologetically.

“My dear, you will insist on getting straight to the point. It’s not at all attractive in a woman. Please, sit down and I shall explain.” As far as Moneypenny was concerned, charm clearly equalled greasiness; Threnody bit back an acid-tongued retort with difficulty.

“First of all I must apologise deeply for underpaying you both for the marvellous job you did last time I –ah- enlisted you to my cause. I can only assure you that it will not happen again, and the accountant who made that ghastly error is no longer in my services.” Two rolls of banknotes hit the desk; Threnody and Felix grabbed one apiece and flicked quickly through the crisp new twenty-pound notes, ensuring that none were missing. They traded discreetly raised eyebrows; ‘PJ’ was never this good about handing out money.

“It’s all there, I can assure you,” Moneypenny smarmed; both nonetheless finished their count. “Now, what do you think of Swann? He’s quite new –I hired him last month- but I must confess that I like him.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t really met the fellow, so I can’t comment.” Felix suddenly came to life. “It was Gosling who showed me in.”

“He doesn’t lock doors,” commented Threnody slowly. “Not quite up to Gosling’s standard, but he does very well for someone new.”

Her superior nodded. “Doesn’t lock doors, eh? I hadn’t noticed. That will have to be rectified immediately if he’s to stay with us.” He raised his voice. “Swann!”

The butler immediately stuck his head in. “Sir?”

“Come in properly, won’t you? There’s a good man. Now, Swann, Miss Winter here has brought it to my attention that you don’t lock doors behind you when you are showing my guests through, and I felt I ought to bring this discrepancy to your notice immediately. I’m afraid I really must insist upon you locking all doors behind you, no matter how trusted the guest, how full your hands, or how rushed you are. It’s simply good security, and if I’m once more made aware of your not doing so, I’m afraid I shall have to- let you go.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” the butler said immediately. “I do apologise.”

“There’s a good man. Now, off you trot, and we’ll hear no more about it.”

“Very good, sir.” Swann was the picture of a good servant, but he shot Threnody a distinctly nasty look as he closed the door behind him, this time locking it immediately. Neither of the men had noticed, and she felt she had already got the poor man into enough trouble to bring it up.

“Now, to business!” Moneypenny rubbed his greasy hands together greedily; he loved this. “Do either of you recall meeting James St. John? Tall, clever, lead the Misinformation Department.”

Threnody dimly recalled a vague impression of a swarthy, clever, handsome man, a mouse-like blonde wife with a hidden sharpness about her.

“Dark, wasn’t he? Had a fair-haired wife? Clever fellow.” Felix now deigned to take part in the conversation.

“That’s him- good man, he was, we were rather close as a matter of fact. Now, unfortunately he and Cathaline –that was his wife- were killed in the line of duty last month; nasty car-bomb attack near Ottery Saint-Catchpole, I don’t know if you remember. Messy business. Even more unfortunately, his will left all his money –and he’d a tidy sum- to his boy, Leonard, whom he’d asked me to look after in the event of an emergency like this. However, he neglected to mention this in his will, and a misbegotten great-aunt has swept in, grabbed the will and the boy, supposedly to look after them, and moved herself into the family home, Catchpole Hall.”

“And you’re telling us this because?” Threnody prompted.

“Because, my dear, she’s not an aunt at all. She’s an impostor, put there (I have reason to believe) by the rival operation led by that dreadful scruffy upstart, Muskerton, partly for the money but mostly to score points against me, particularly since the slattern has had the barefaced gall to put it about that there is no will. Now, I want you two in Catchpole Hall by the end of the week- you’ll be St. John’s estranged sister and her husband, fiancée, whatever. My point is, you go in, get the will and the boy, and get out, preferably killing the aunt on the way, though that’s entirely a superficial point in the plan, and you needn’t attend to that if it’s too much trouble.”

It was Felix who asked the crucial question. “How much?”

“Fifteen grand apiece if you’re out by a week tomorrow, with a bonus of five hundred between you if you kill the aunt without being detected. Come back without either of the crucial items, and you’ll both be on half.”

Despite themselves, both Threnody and Felix whistled in awe; the boy had to be worth at least a hundred thousand for Moneypenny to offer so much.

“You must really like that kid, sir,” Threnody said dryly.

“That’s my affair.” Moneypenny said shortly. “You’ll take the job, then?”

Felix laughed. “We’ll take anything worth that much money, sir- eh, Threnody?”

“Most definitely. We’re on.”

“Excellent. Now, here’s what you need to know…”

 

When Felix and Threnody left the building an hour later, both were filled with the heady rush that comes when you are tantalisingly close to a large amount of easy money, despite the grey drizzle of a London morning posing as summer.

“Well, what do you think?” Threnody asked at last.

“I think we’re on easy money here,” Felix laughed, gallantly protecting Threnody from the invading rain drops with a massive black umbrella. He became suddenly serious. “My only concern is that this job appears entirely too easy; why’s PJ offering so much money?”

“I can only imagine he’s discovered the delights of opium- but whatever it is, you won’t catch me complaining. Come on, Felix, how hard can it be? We go in, we get a kid and a will, we get out.”

“And on that note, I believe we’ll have to part,” murmured Felix. “Here’s my cab. You’ve got a ride, haven’t you?”

“Of course. He’s one of PJ’s- I asked him to wait.” Threnody let out a piercing whistle, and the cab appeared as if by magic.

“Ever the polite one, I see. Well, goodbye.” The pair traded a firm hand-clasp; to be any more familiar, in the middle of the most respectable part of London, was to invite trouble.

“Goodbye, Felix. See you Tuesday?” Not wanting to keep the driver waiting, Threnody disappeared into her cab.

“Tomorrow it is,” Felix called to her. She waved to him in acknowledgment and farewell; he could only watch, his own carriage forgotten, as her cab vanished into the foggy drizzle. “My love,” he whispered through numb lips, knowing she couldn’t hear him now.

 

It was an uneasy woman who met ‘Mr and Mrs Jameson-Jones’ as they arrived at Catchpole Hall that Tuesday evening, though she gave no sign of her anxiety. In the semi-darkness the Hall was an imposing place: dank, dead and decrepit, it loomed over Threnody and Felix’s carriage. Indeed, the building was very good at looming altogether, a battered old grey giant who still retains his nobility despite the best attempts on his dignity by the upstart weeds that strangled their way up the walls. Not quite a wreck, it was still battered enough for Threnody to suppose that either the place was impervious to all attempts to repair it, or the former owners hadn’t been fond enough of living there to care. The full moon was a cruel light, shamelessly highlighting the house’s worst defects; the place seemed to pull away from its light like a model who knows she is past her prime yet is forced by need to work nonetheless.

Mrs Murgatroyd Henbane was a tall woman of roughly sixty; though past her prime, she must have been striking when young, and some of her good looks had not been lost to her: high, sharp cheekbones, a fine nose, clear bright-blue eyes and a thick crop of silver hair. She stood tall and straight as a ruler in the shadows of the doorway, watching the newcomers covertly with eyes that glittered with a cold purpose.

The coach pulled up to the porch with a clatter of hooves and wheels, but Murgatroyd Henbane stayed resolutely hidden as the driver slithered down from his perch to set in place the steps and open the carriage door for the couple. I have no idea what the hell happened to the font, but lack the will to do anything about it, so you'll have to deal with it. ^_^