A Children's Tale (16 page)

Along the waterfront, the fog held greater reign. There it played madly about, reducing most travelers' visibility to only a few feet along many a winding, twisted 'close' that sat between buildings. Down one of these narrow alleyways a lone figure, dressed in a fine, dark, long wool coat, trousers and shoes paused at an intersection. A cat, startled by the man's sudden appearance, gave a sudden yowl of displeasure and raced off into the night. Similarly startled, the man let out a deep breath, and with shaking hands adjusted his navy blue bowler before he resumed his hurry. 

He chose a turn to his right. Ahead, he could make out the dim lanterns of a seedy waterfront pub known locally as Smithy's. The man looked around once more, then confident he had not been observed, slipped around to a side door and inside. 

The pub was crowded for a Thursday evening along the waterfront, but not so much that it worried the man. He had greater worries on his mind at that moment. He started to remove his bowler, an automatic reaction to being inside a building, but stopped himself. Others in the pub had not seen fit to do as such, and given his own need for secrecy, he followed their lead. Instead, he unbuttoned his long coat against the comforting warmth of the room and looked around. Across the establishment from him, the person he sought, his longtime business partner, was sitting at a table with a pint of some brewed beverage in front of him. Another pint glass, untouched, was in front of the empty chair there as well. The man who had just entered gently cleared his throat from a bout of nerves, then quietly wound his way through the crowd to the table. 

At the table, the man seated there noticed the newcomer, but kept his eye averted. Instead he took a drink and winced. His lip was bruised, eye blackened, and days-old cuts adorned one side of his thin, aristocratic face. A fresh bandage was wrapped around his right hand and wrist, secured tight enough to protect at least one fractured bone or two. Despite the wounds and bandages, he was still well groomed and dressed with a linen shirt, fine captain's coat and well-oiled boots. However, the shirt showed some signs of wear and it hung just a bit loose on his thin frame. It was as if he had lost weight recently due to some malady.

"I thought we intended to meet alone, RiBeld?" The finely dressed man whispered angrily with a sharp, British high-born accent. Even though it was a whisper, his anger made it sound more like a furious hiss. 

RiBeld turned a hard and icy stare at the newcomer. "I felt it was prudent to seek out a more public venue. Especially in light of how unexpected our little venture turned out." RiBeld motioned to the chair with the drink in front of it. "Sit down, Ian, you're making a spectacle of yourself, even for this place."

Ian Von Patterson looked around the room nervously, then sat as RiBeld instructed. He returned his angry look to RiBeld. "I am not accustomed to being summoned at your whim like some scullery maid." Von Patterson frowned at RiBeld. "Is there something wrong with you? You look thinner."

RiBeld ignored the comment, took a drink of his ale, and winced again at the dark bruise around his left eye and on his lip that still pained him. With a sigh, he set down the glass and leveled an ugly look at Von Patterson. "Are you bloody well done with your whining? The plan failed. By now I suspect your brother's delightful little spawn are back in his care."

"What?" Von Patterson looked aghast. "Didn't those people I hired locate the wreck? I was assured ..."

"You were assured they were competent at their jobs!" RiBeld interrupted. "Oh and they were. They found the wreck right square away, but then they just wouldn't roll over and die like you assumed. They were a tough lot, tougher than anyone imagined." A faint smirk dashed across RiBeld's face for a moment. "You have to give them at least that, I expect."

"No!" Von Patterson choked on the word as much as he tried not to choke on the explanation given. "I've debts! Mountains of them. With those children dead, my brother would've been held accountable. His shipping business would've come fully under my name. The children's trust fund would've easily covered my debts. Now, I've nothing! I'm ruined! There'll be scandal! Do you know how much I had to pay to bribe the dock-master for the flight plans? What shall I tell my creditors? The Blackheart League! The money I've borrowed from them isn't a small sum." 

RiBeld gripped Von Patterson's left arm tight with his own bandaged right hand. Von Patterson whimpered in pain. The mercenary captain pulled the man closer. "Get a hold of yourself and keep your voice down! Now let me make this perfectly and completely clear. Forget about your creditors. They are sheep among the flock. Men hang for what we've done. You have to leave London. Tonight. Take an extended sabbatical. The reach of the Royal Navy and Scotland Yard only goes so far. There are places even they dare not tread."

His thin face ashen, eyes wide with fear, Von Patterson nodded glumly. "Yes, I have to leave... wait, what about the Blackheart League?"

RiBeld released his vice grip on the terrified man next to him. "They'll follow you to the ends of the earth." He said quietly, coldly. "From what I've heard, be of use, and they'll overlook mistakes. While abroad, find some new opportunity for them."

Von Patterson clutched the pint glass in front of him, still full with ale, out of need to hold on to something solid. "And then?"

RiBeld shrugged. "Then if you're lucky, they'll not skin you ... or worse."

Von Patterson swallowed in an attempt to control his heartbeat, which had long ago raced away with itself. He finally nodded silently and stared at the dark, amber-colored drink in front of him. 

Just then, a barmaid stopped by their table with a thin smile. She wore her long tresses of brown hair gathered in the back with only a few strands askew to attest to her hours at work. Tired though she was, her eyes lingered on the glowering form of RiBeld and the pale, thin, terrified looks of Von Patterson. She had worked at Smithy's for many years. Enough to know dark dealings when she saw them. Especially when it was dark dealings gone horribly awry. Those were sights one never spoke about, that is, if one wished to continue to draw breath another day.

"'Ere now. A right smart stout for ya both." She set down two pint glasses filled with a charcoal-dark stout covered atop with a rich white foam. 

The two men exchanged a glance. RiBeld was the first to look up.

"These are not ours. You're at the wrong table." He said flatly.

The barmaid shrugged. "Nevva said ya did, 'guv. Drinks are from the guvnor o'er in the corner." She nodded in the direction of the far corner of the room.  

RiBeld's eyes darted to where she indicated, but the corner was dark and the room crowded. For Von Patterson, however, that was the breaking point. He rose quickly, nearly spilling both ale and stout over the table and bumping into the barmaid. RiBeld had been so intent on looking for who their mysterious benefactor was he missed his chance to grab the panicked Von Patterson. 

"Von Patterson! Sit down! You're making a spectacle!" RiBeld hissed furiously.

Von Patterson backed away from the table. "You're quite right you know, a long trip. A quite long one. It will do the nerves good." The man stammered. His hands shook uncontrollably while he pushed his way for the door. RiBeld rose and took one last look at the corner.

There, from the gloom, a figure rose from its chair. Dressed in a worn leather long coat, hair cropped neat and short in the Royal Navy style, Captain Anthony Hunter leaned on his cane a moment before taking a step forward into the lamp light. A small smile crossed his face as he inclined his head slightly to RiBeld in a silent greeting.

The mercenary captain spun about in a panic to grab Von Patterson, but the man was nearly to the door. He pushed the barmaid aside and shoved his way after Von Patterson before things could grow worse.

Ian Von Patterson almost laughed nervously to himself. He would get away and hide. No one would find him. He would be safe. He reached for the front door just as a broad-shouldered man dressed in brown tweed trousers, jacket and cream linen shirt stepped up in front of him. 

"Ian Von Patterson, I presume?" The man asked curtly.

an paused, his thoughts derailed. The man's manner of dress fit that of a common dock worker. His speech was anything but. "Yes?" He stammered to reply through his fog of confusion.

The man nodded to someone outside of Von Patterson's view. "You'll come with us now, Sirrah." Behind Von Patterson another man, similarly dressed, stepped up.

Panic suddenly galvanized Ian's thoughts. "Wait, no! What is this?"

RiBeld appeared next to the trio at that moment. "Back off. Find someone else to pinch for money!" He growled at the two men. 

The man at the door was not in the least flustered. He looked over at RiBeld with a raised eyebrow. "That's 'Constable' to you ... Archibald RiBeld is it?" 

It was RiBeld's turn to grow pale when the other constable, similarly disguised, grabbed onto both RiBeld and Von Patterson. "Come along quiet now. There's an Inspector quite anxious to have a bit of a chat with the two of you over the matter of a shipwreck."

Von Patterson went limp, whimpering, but RiBeld was not so easily taken. Immediately, he punched the constable in front of him, then turned on the one behind. Quickly, the door burst open and four more constables, dressed in uniform rushed into the panic of the pub to lunge for RiBeld. Behind them walked two men in suits and long coats. Hunter limped slowly over to one these, a man in his late forties with short graying hair and a stout frame that filled his brown tweed suit. 

"Inspector Kincade." Hunter said pleasantly.

"Good evening to you, Captain Hunter. It seems your information was indeed correct." The police inspector said with a smile. "Given your accusations, it was a hard story to believe. But it seems to be quite true given what we've overheard so far." 

With great interest, Hunter was watching the fight between RiBeld and the police that had just now finished, with RiBeld the loser. "Quite, indeed. I'm only glad you were willing to humor me in this."

"Well, a charge of murder and attempted murder alone is enough to merit attention, despite the other fantastic claims you made. We're in your debt on this." He offered his hand to the captain.

Hunter accepted it and shook it briefly. "The thanks are appreciated, Inspector, but they may be somewhat premature."

"How do you mean?"

Hunter pointed at the bloody, growling visage of RiBeld. "That isn't Archibald RiBeld."

"What?" Von Patterson screeched, confusion and panic evident in his eyes. "I've been set up!"

"Quiet you." Growled the constable. 

Von Patterson looked about, eyes wild. "They cannot get me. What they will do will be horror. I cannot be found."

The constable pulled Von Patterson a short distance away with another order for the man to control himself.

The inspector looked incredulous at Hunter's statement. "Preposterous! I've seen the man myself. I've met him through state functions many times, and he is here as you said he'd be." 

"Be that as it may, and I daresay I don't know how he pulled it off to look so near perfect, that man there is only disguised as RiBeld. Let me offer you proof." Hunter walked forward towards RiBeld, who glared daggers at Hunter.

The captain pointed at RiBeld's right hand. "When he and I last met, I broke his right wrist in the fight with my left hand." Hunter tugged the glove off his left hand to reveal the intricate brass and leather artificial clockwork hand underneath. The gears turned methodically with a dull whir and click. "We watched that man lift a glass and grab Von Patterson with that very same right hand. If broken, he shouldn't be able to do that, and if healed by some strange arcane means, there would at least be a scar or a faint residue from the process. He must likewise be wearing a disguise."

Kincade considered this a moment. "Loosen the man's wrappings. Just enough to see this."

The nearest constable nodded and reached for RiBeld's bandaged right hand. The man's eyes went wide with fury and panic. In a surge of strength, he shoved the constables aside and lunged for Hunter. "I'll kill you!"

Hunter backed away, but not quick enough. RiBeld slammed into the captain and the pair smashed into a table, spilling drinks across the pub. Immediately behind them two constables lunged to recover RiBeld. Inspector Kincade likewise grabbed for the man.

In the fight, the bandages had come loose. Instead of revealing a scar, broken skin or bruise, his wrist was completely undamaged. The inspector frowned. "Well, this is most unusual. Not a hint of a scar or any sign of a break. However, if you do have the likeness of RiBeld, so you'll be coming to the Yard with us for quite a long chat anyway. We'll have a specialist come around to check you for any arcane healing you might have gotten, 'Archibald RiBeld' or whatever your name really is."

"Inspector," one of the constables who held the fake RiBeld said. "Best take a look here."

The constable tightened his grip and forced RiBeld's head to one side. There, just barely visible under some well-applied stage makeup, was what appeared to be a seam sewn into the man's skin. Hunter stepped back in shock, eyes wide while Inspector Kincade gasped.

"Just what are you?" Kincade asked astounded. 

"Nothing any of you will comprehend!" The fake RiBeld snarled, an insane rage boiling behind his eyes. "They'll come for you, all of you!" 

Slowly, the constables led out the whimpering Von Patterson from the pub. Behind them, the fake RiBeld was bodily hauled away, all the while hurling insults and curses at both Hunter and Kincade. 

"So the villain remains at large, eh? Unfortunate, that." Inspector Kincade said solemnly with a sigh to regain his composure. "All of this only tightens the noose on his neck. We'll see what we can glean from the impostor, including what he actually might even be. If we're fortunate, we'll have the real RiBeld in hand soon enough. It seems he's much to answer for here. As much as Von Patterson."

"Equally so, Inspector, equally so." Hunter commented.