Post by Lorpius Prime on Apr 10, 2007 23:56:50 GMT -5
When Jay realized what was bothering him, he was shocked that it had taken him so long to figure it out. It must have been a sign of the strange turn his life had taken these last few times.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, “but might we have a glass of water or something? I’m afraid I’m rather parched.”
It was so obvious, and yet for the last twenty minutes Jay had been cursing his itching throat without even considering why it might feel that way.
He seemed to have caught Baron Münchhausen off-guard as well. The pale old German stopped in mid-sentence and blinked. Then he put a hand to his chin and looked as if he was giving serious thought to the request.
“No, I don’t think I can offer you any.”
Jack’s head cocked to one side, but the Australian didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry?” Jay was confused by the refusal.
“Perhaps I have some wine to share…” Münchhausen said vaguely, and started away from the bookshelf he’d been leaning against. Neither Jay nor Jack had the presence of mind to say anything before he had walked off into the dark.
“Does no one drink water in this country?”
“Not that I’ve observed,” Jack muttered.
“I want to know what was wrong with the chairs,” Jay shifted his weight from his right leg to his left, “couldn’t we go back to the chairs?”
Jack shrugged.
“Ah well,” Jay sighed, “has he said anything interesting? I’m afraid I drifted off for a while.”
“So did I,” Jack was running a finger along the volumes in the bookshelf. Jay couldn’t even read the highly stylized lettering on the covers.
“Jack,” Jay lowered his voice somewhat, “what are we doing here?” He glanced around, as if expecting Münchhausen to leap out from the shadows.
Jack pulled one of the books from the shelf and flipped it open, “Know of a better place for us to go?”
“No,” Jay furrowed his brow, “don’t you?”
“Nope,” Jack snapped the leather-bound book shut again and replaced it. “I figure we listen to what the Baron has to say, at least until we think of something else.”
Not knowing anything else to say, Jay nodded. The situation was making him nervous. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence.
And then Münchhausen did return, though he walked rather than leapt out of the dim edges of the lamplight. He held up two crystal glasses filled with a blood-red liquid.
“I apologize about that. But I assure you, the wine is quite good.” He handed each of them a glass.
“None for yourself?” Jack asked, motioning towards the Baron with his glass.
“No, I am not thirsty.” When Jack didn’t move, he smiled. “I have not poisoned it; I give you my word on that account.”
Jay gagged. He looked at his glass worriedly while wishing he’d waited a moment before taking a big sip. It didn’t feel right to be quenching his thirst with wine anyway.
The other two men both turned to look at him.
“Well,” the Baron said, only a little maliciously, “I suppose you can observe Mr. Blake here if you are still worried. But I would hope you will remain open to the possibility that he could die of neurosis as easily as poison.”
Jay started coughing.
Münchhausen watched him for a moment, then turned around to face the bookshelf, “Well, if I may continue…”
Martin Bozeman Holland folded the letter into thirds and returned it to its envelope. Nothing. He put it in the stack on the right along with the others like it. With his left hand he retrieved another envelope from the other—much larger—stack. Martin opened the flap with his thumb and shook the letter free. It fell onto the desk, where he picked it up with his right hand and unfolded it.
Dear Mr. Blake,
May this letter find you well and in good spirits. I do hope that my telegram indeed found you in Stockholm. Having no response from you, I am in a most dreadful state of worry over the condition of the North Sea cable and, of course, the safety of your person. My worry was only compounded upon being unable to locate any examples of your writing in the most recent editions of The Times. Until I learnt of your imminent arrival at Blake Manor, this perplexing state of events and your recent sojourn in Sweden had awakened nightmares of a terrible tragedy befalling you at the hands of angry Danes.
You may be disappointed that there has been an alteration in the plans I had sent in my wire. My family expects to in fact remain in the country for the duration of the summer, and therefore our meeting in town would be not only unlikely, but impossible.
Martin heard the faint rattle of glass panes as the door to the office was shut. He jumped a little, surprised that he hadn’t heard it open.
There was a woman standing inside the door, her hand resting on the knob. She was wearing an unpretentious and simple gray dress that reached down to scuffed black boots. Her hair was short but hung loosely behind her shoulders, as if she’d neglected to fix it up that morning. She was looking at him, though her face was lacking emotion and her eyelids hung down wearily.
“You must be Colonel Holland?”
He waited a moment before answering, to make sure his voice would be clear of any signs that she had startled him, “I am.”
She nodded and walked into the office. Pulling up a chair from the wall, she sat down across the desk from him. Her head scanned the papers strewn across it.
“You’re reading my brother’s mail.”
“You must be Margaret.”
She looked up into his eyes, her own were cold, “I am.”
Martin ignored the challenge, “Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all yours.”
He raised an eyebrow, “And I thought I was bringing good news.”
She let out a tiny hmph! “I’ve heard the ‘news’ you bring, Colonel Holland, and it rather strikes me as no news at all. You have raised my parents’ hopes, though.”
“That’s not a good thing?”
“You don’t know if my brother is alive, Colonel Holland. If he isn’t, it’ll be like you killed him a second time for us.”
Probably true, and also not my problem. He shrugged, “I’m just doing my job.”
“Yes… and how does that concern my brother’s letters?”
“There might be something to give us a clue to what’s happened. A notice from some disgruntled troublemaker, a threat, anything which might provide insight.”
She picked up the envelope of the letter he was holding in his hand and looked at it, “And would you say it’s quite likely that Miss Perry has abducted him?”
Martin glanced back at the fancy handwriting,
However, a conspiracy of goodwill is in our favor. My mother wishes me to write that you, and all your family, naturally, are welcome at Exmoor Park as soon as it should be convenient for a visit. For not only her sake, but I daresay my own, do I take great pleasure in passing this invitation on to you. You shall, we expect, as often as possible wish to avail yourself of the fresher country air, taking weekends and holidays away from the stifling atmosphere of London.
And, of course, should you be called away in a professional capacity to another exotic and exciting destination, we shall be certain to hear of it through our mutual connections, and contact may be established despite the separation of geographical distance. How I do marvel at the modern convenience of the telegram, and the excitement of your travels!
I await your reply with great anticipation and as much fortitude as may be mustered.
Faithfully yours, etc.
Miss Wilma Perry
Exmoor Park, Devonshire
“I’m not prepared to rule that out as a possibility.”
Martin was careful to conceal his own pleasure when the barest smile formed on Margaret Blake’s face before she could force it down.
Jay held up a hand to stop the Baron before he could go any further.
“All right, I’m not entirely sure I’ve been following all of this, but have you just been blaming my country for making the world boring?”
Jack looked over at him with a sympathetic smirk. Münchhausen sighed impatiently, “Mundane would be the more accurate term, but yes. The impact of the Empire on this world is extraordinary and undeniable.”
“I think there are worse things that could happen than for the world to be a little dull, wouldn’t you say?”
The Baron started to bare his teeth, but seemed to catch himself. He shook his head in a visible effort to regain his composure.
“No, I would not expect you to understand, that has always been our problem. Britain has been a nation of shopkeepers for too long.”
Jay rolled his eyes at the old insult, “And yet we still beat Napoleon, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” came the soft reply, “you could subdue the Tyrant. But not the Dreamer.”
“Dreamer?” Jay raised an eyebrow, “Are you talking about Ludwig? Because in a week or so there are going to be a lot of people who see things differently.”
“Oh yes, and what a cause for celebration, the destruction of a Hero’s dream,” the Baron snorted. “But you are missing my point. The Empire may have defeated Germany, but not the Swan King. All the mighty power of reason and industry could not overcome that one last gasp of hope and glory.”
Jay chuckled at a thought, “I don’t suppose you’d mind being quoted for a newspaper story?”
“I would mind very much.”
“Shame.” For a moment, no one seemed to know who should speak next, so Jay went on. “All right, fine, we’re too boring to beat a loony German monarch with an unhealthy bird obsession. What, for heaven’s sake, does this have to do with us?”
Münchhausen smiled, “I believe that I can safely say, Mr. Blake, that it has everything to do with you.”
“Oh my,” Jay replied in monotone syllables, “does it really?”
The self-satisfied smile persisted, “I believe, Mr. Blake, that you have been carrying a certain document with you for the past few days.”
Jay’s hand tightened protectively on the book under his coat, “I don’t really see how this has anything to do—“
“I do not mean your Grandfather’s writings, Mr. Blake,” the Baron’s tone was one of thinning patience. “Fascinating as they may be to you or I, I doubt your government has any interest in their contents.”
Jay frowned and loosened his grip, “But the only other ‘documents’ I’ve received were from Mills for… well…”
Jack, who’d been silent but appeared skeptical, turned his head to Jay and raised an eyebrow. Jay rubbed the back of his neck, “They were some old, and I mean really old, papers about the German Wars. Still, it was all from Public Records, nothing particularly special or new…”
Münchhausen was smiling again, “Are you certain of that?”
“Well, I suppose I was interrupted before I could read all of it in detail. And interrupted by a madman, I might add,” he did add with a glance to Jack. “But I skimmed through everything; it’s all more or less what you read in the history books.”
“As approved by Her Imperial Majesty’s censors, of course.” Jay was a little put off to see Jack nodding at the Baron’s comment. Münchhausen continued, “I would very much like to see the contents of those papers.”
Jay screwed up his eyes, “Well they’re back in my suitcase which is in an army base surrounded by about a hundred men who seem to be bent on killing me. We can’t very well just go get them for you, can we?”
“Yes, Mr. Blake, I think you can.”
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, “but might we have a glass of water or something? I’m afraid I’m rather parched.”
It was so obvious, and yet for the last twenty minutes Jay had been cursing his itching throat without even considering why it might feel that way.
He seemed to have caught Baron Münchhausen off-guard as well. The pale old German stopped in mid-sentence and blinked. Then he put a hand to his chin and looked as if he was giving serious thought to the request.
“No, I don’t think I can offer you any.”
Jack’s head cocked to one side, but the Australian didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry?” Jay was confused by the refusal.
“Perhaps I have some wine to share…” Münchhausen said vaguely, and started away from the bookshelf he’d been leaning against. Neither Jay nor Jack had the presence of mind to say anything before he had walked off into the dark.
“Does no one drink water in this country?”
“Not that I’ve observed,” Jack muttered.
“I want to know what was wrong with the chairs,” Jay shifted his weight from his right leg to his left, “couldn’t we go back to the chairs?”
Jack shrugged.
“Ah well,” Jay sighed, “has he said anything interesting? I’m afraid I drifted off for a while.”
“So did I,” Jack was running a finger along the volumes in the bookshelf. Jay couldn’t even read the highly stylized lettering on the covers.
“Jack,” Jay lowered his voice somewhat, “what are we doing here?” He glanced around, as if expecting Münchhausen to leap out from the shadows.
Jack pulled one of the books from the shelf and flipped it open, “Know of a better place for us to go?”
“No,” Jay furrowed his brow, “don’t you?”
“Nope,” Jack snapped the leather-bound book shut again and replaced it. “I figure we listen to what the Baron has to say, at least until we think of something else.”
Not knowing anything else to say, Jay nodded. The situation was making him nervous. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence.
And then Münchhausen did return, though he walked rather than leapt out of the dim edges of the lamplight. He held up two crystal glasses filled with a blood-red liquid.
“I apologize about that. But I assure you, the wine is quite good.” He handed each of them a glass.
“None for yourself?” Jack asked, motioning towards the Baron with his glass.
“No, I am not thirsty.” When Jack didn’t move, he smiled. “I have not poisoned it; I give you my word on that account.”
Jay gagged. He looked at his glass worriedly while wishing he’d waited a moment before taking a big sip. It didn’t feel right to be quenching his thirst with wine anyway.
The other two men both turned to look at him.
“Well,” the Baron said, only a little maliciously, “I suppose you can observe Mr. Blake here if you are still worried. But I would hope you will remain open to the possibility that he could die of neurosis as easily as poison.”
Jay started coughing.
Münchhausen watched him for a moment, then turned around to face the bookshelf, “Well, if I may continue…”
* * *
Martin Bozeman Holland folded the letter into thirds and returned it to its envelope. Nothing. He put it in the stack on the right along with the others like it. With his left hand he retrieved another envelope from the other—much larger—stack. Martin opened the flap with his thumb and shook the letter free. It fell onto the desk, where he picked it up with his right hand and unfolded it.
Dear Mr. Blake,
May this letter find you well and in good spirits. I do hope that my telegram indeed found you in Stockholm. Having no response from you, I am in a most dreadful state of worry over the condition of the North Sea cable and, of course, the safety of your person. My worry was only compounded upon being unable to locate any examples of your writing in the most recent editions of The Times. Until I learnt of your imminent arrival at Blake Manor, this perplexing state of events and your recent sojourn in Sweden had awakened nightmares of a terrible tragedy befalling you at the hands of angry Danes.
You may be disappointed that there has been an alteration in the plans I had sent in my wire. My family expects to in fact remain in the country for the duration of the summer, and therefore our meeting in town would be not only unlikely, but impossible.
Martin heard the faint rattle of glass panes as the door to the office was shut. He jumped a little, surprised that he hadn’t heard it open.
There was a woman standing inside the door, her hand resting on the knob. She was wearing an unpretentious and simple gray dress that reached down to scuffed black boots. Her hair was short but hung loosely behind her shoulders, as if she’d neglected to fix it up that morning. She was looking at him, though her face was lacking emotion and her eyelids hung down wearily.
“You must be Colonel Holland?”
He waited a moment before answering, to make sure his voice would be clear of any signs that she had startled him, “I am.”
She nodded and walked into the office. Pulling up a chair from the wall, she sat down across the desk from him. Her head scanned the papers strewn across it.
“You’re reading my brother’s mail.”
“You must be Margaret.”
She looked up into his eyes, her own were cold, “I am.”
Martin ignored the challenge, “Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all yours.”
He raised an eyebrow, “And I thought I was bringing good news.”
She let out a tiny hmph! “I’ve heard the ‘news’ you bring, Colonel Holland, and it rather strikes me as no news at all. You have raised my parents’ hopes, though.”
“That’s not a good thing?”
“You don’t know if my brother is alive, Colonel Holland. If he isn’t, it’ll be like you killed him a second time for us.”
Probably true, and also not my problem. He shrugged, “I’m just doing my job.”
“Yes… and how does that concern my brother’s letters?”
“There might be something to give us a clue to what’s happened. A notice from some disgruntled troublemaker, a threat, anything which might provide insight.”
She picked up the envelope of the letter he was holding in his hand and looked at it, “And would you say it’s quite likely that Miss Perry has abducted him?”
Martin glanced back at the fancy handwriting,
However, a conspiracy of goodwill is in our favor. My mother wishes me to write that you, and all your family, naturally, are welcome at Exmoor Park as soon as it should be convenient for a visit. For not only her sake, but I daresay my own, do I take great pleasure in passing this invitation on to you. You shall, we expect, as often as possible wish to avail yourself of the fresher country air, taking weekends and holidays away from the stifling atmosphere of London.
And, of course, should you be called away in a professional capacity to another exotic and exciting destination, we shall be certain to hear of it through our mutual connections, and contact may be established despite the separation of geographical distance. How I do marvel at the modern convenience of the telegram, and the excitement of your travels!
I await your reply with great anticipation and as much fortitude as may be mustered.
Faithfully yours, etc.
Miss Wilma Perry
Exmoor Park, Devonshire
“I’m not prepared to rule that out as a possibility.”
Martin was careful to conceal his own pleasure when the barest smile formed on Margaret Blake’s face before she could force it down.
* * *
Jay held up a hand to stop the Baron before he could go any further.
“All right, I’m not entirely sure I’ve been following all of this, but have you just been blaming my country for making the world boring?”
Jack looked over at him with a sympathetic smirk. Münchhausen sighed impatiently, “Mundane would be the more accurate term, but yes. The impact of the Empire on this world is extraordinary and undeniable.”
“I think there are worse things that could happen than for the world to be a little dull, wouldn’t you say?”
The Baron started to bare his teeth, but seemed to catch himself. He shook his head in a visible effort to regain his composure.
“No, I would not expect you to understand, that has always been our problem. Britain has been a nation of shopkeepers for too long.”
Jay rolled his eyes at the old insult, “And yet we still beat Napoleon, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” came the soft reply, “you could subdue the Tyrant. But not the Dreamer.”
“Dreamer?” Jay raised an eyebrow, “Are you talking about Ludwig? Because in a week or so there are going to be a lot of people who see things differently.”
“Oh yes, and what a cause for celebration, the destruction of a Hero’s dream,” the Baron snorted. “But you are missing my point. The Empire may have defeated Germany, but not the Swan King. All the mighty power of reason and industry could not overcome that one last gasp of hope and glory.”
Jay chuckled at a thought, “I don’t suppose you’d mind being quoted for a newspaper story?”
“I would mind very much.”
“Shame.” For a moment, no one seemed to know who should speak next, so Jay went on. “All right, fine, we’re too boring to beat a loony German monarch with an unhealthy bird obsession. What, for heaven’s sake, does this have to do with us?”
Münchhausen smiled, “I believe that I can safely say, Mr. Blake, that it has everything to do with you.”
“Oh my,” Jay replied in monotone syllables, “does it really?”
The self-satisfied smile persisted, “I believe, Mr. Blake, that you have been carrying a certain document with you for the past few days.”
Jay’s hand tightened protectively on the book under his coat, “I don’t really see how this has anything to do—“
“I do not mean your Grandfather’s writings, Mr. Blake,” the Baron’s tone was one of thinning patience. “Fascinating as they may be to you or I, I doubt your government has any interest in their contents.”
Jay frowned and loosened his grip, “But the only other ‘documents’ I’ve received were from Mills for… well…”
Jack, who’d been silent but appeared skeptical, turned his head to Jay and raised an eyebrow. Jay rubbed the back of his neck, “They were some old, and I mean really old, papers about the German Wars. Still, it was all from Public Records, nothing particularly special or new…”
Münchhausen was smiling again, “Are you certain of that?”
“Well, I suppose I was interrupted before I could read all of it in detail. And interrupted by a madman, I might add,” he did add with a glance to Jack. “But I skimmed through everything; it’s all more or less what you read in the history books.”
“As approved by Her Imperial Majesty’s censors, of course.” Jay was a little put off to see Jack nodding at the Baron’s comment. Münchhausen continued, “I would very much like to see the contents of those papers.”
Jay screwed up his eyes, “Well they’re back in my suitcase which is in an army base surrounded by about a hundred men who seem to be bent on killing me. We can’t very well just go get them for you, can we?”
“Yes, Mr. Blake, I think you can.”
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-