Post by Lorpius Prime on Jan 16, 2008 1:04:46 GMT -5
Idiots! Fools! Pea-brained bumbling incompetents! Martin Bozeman Holland rammed his fist into the wooden support column in the middle of the room. Hissing more in anger than in pain, he drew his hand back and rubbed scraped and splinter-pierced skin above his knuckles. He was in danger of biting clean through his cigarette and his lungs burned from the strain of drawing in the tobacco smoke through tightly clenched teeth.
He paced for a few moments, but it didn’t really help and he spun to strike the column again, angry growls bubbling up from deep in his throat.
After several blows, Martin’s fists were truly bloodied and he was panting from the exertion. It took another moment to realize he had bitten through his cigarette and he stamped out the glowing embers with the toe of his shoe. He looked at the detritus on the floor, and spat out the remainders of the butt in his mouth too. He could clean it up later, or one of the maids would deal with it.
For the moment, he dug in his breast pocket for another cigarette and lit it with a match from the little book on the nightstand. He flicked the spent match to the floor along with the last cigarette. A deep drag calmed him and his ragged breathing slowed somewhat as the smoke filled his lungs and was then expelled. Martin took a minute to tear up one of his spare undershirts and use the strips to wrap his hands.
Rather than continuing to punish the column and his fists, Martin opened the window and leaned on his palms against the sill. The sun was just sinking below the horizon but Martin had been put up in the east wing of the Blake manor and the sky outside his window was the deep blue color of early night. The moon was bright and full just above the tree line; Martin tapped some ashes into the bushes below while he considered it.
It’s like that night in Madrid he thought sourly and returned the cigarette to his lips. It surprised him how quickly he’d come to resent those early years of his career. For a time, the Service hadn’t been able to get enough of him, and Martin had been naïve enough to think it would last. Madrid had landed him behind a desk, but at least it had been a prestige appointment, recognition of his ability. But removal from the field allowed his star to fade, and now that desk had made him a scapegoat and earned him the distinct dishonor of a return to the field in what no one would mistake for anything but a shit assignment.
Martin told himself that he wouldn’t feel so put upon if the people who had taken his place showed the least sign that they knew their asses from their elbows in dealing with this case. Unfortunately, he’d been having a conversation not three hours ago with some rather monumental evidence that his bosses were the worst kind of ineffective buffoons. Martin was fighting very hard against the urge to book a train back to London and throttle Jamie Hodgeson himself.
His anger was threatening to boil over again when the door to the room opened. Forgetting himself, he turned towards the noise with a snarl.
Margaret Blake, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow at him, “And good evening to you as well, Colonel Holland.” The sarcasm dripping from beneath her sugary words could not go unnoticed.
The anger drained out of Martin in the blink of an eye, and was replaced by ice water running up his spine. He straightened his pose and coughed into a hand before speaking. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Blake. I’m afraid I was caught up in my thoughts. Good evening.”
The chuckle of laughter was visible in Margaret’s eyes, even though she let nothing of the sort pass her lips. “And, if I might ask, would these thoughts have anything to do with Miss Stonewell? Father and I have just finished seeing her and her brother off.”
Martin turned away from her, back towards the window. It wasn’t proper behavior, but he could feel himself flushing with rage again.
“My people dropped the ball. We didn’t know Miss Stonewell had even left Germany, much less that she might be attending Mr. Perry’s funeral. I would have told you otherwise.” And she could believe as much of that as she wanted. Some of it might even be true, Martin thought. He certainly wouldn’t be surprised if the error went beyond his superiors simply forgetting to keep him informed.
Margaret made a noncommittal noise to which Martin could think of no response. Neither of them said anything for a minute or two, but Martin could hear her walking up behind him at a slow and deliberate pace.
He took a deep breath and shuffled aside slightly as she came up beside him and leaned out the window as he had before. She rested her chin on her palms and looked out blankly over the dark estate.
After a while, “Could I have one of those?”
“Huh?” Martin’s thoughts had been drifting again.
“Your cigarettes, may I have one?” she swiveled her head around to look up at him.
Martin blinked; “Er…” he fished in his pocket again for one of the little rolls of tobacco and handed it to her. Then he thoughtfully passed on the book of matches too.
She took one and struck it smoothly then brought it to her mouth to light the paper. Martin’s cigarettes were rolled too big for anything a woman should smoke, but it hadn’t been something he’d planned, and there wasn’t anything to do about it now.
Margaret inhaled the blue smoke then coughed a little.
“Don’t tell Mother about this,” she said, “but I’m starting to see why Father and Stephanie and you go through so many of these things.” She looked at the little burning stick between her fingers, “They do help with the nerves, don’t they?”
Martin was starting to suspect that his tobacco intake did not the least bit of good for his nerves, but he nodded anyway.
So did Margaret, in silent agreement, and she puffed on Martin’s cigarette a few more times. She was gazing into space at the wall just beyond his head, and Martin wondered what she was thinking.
“Do you really think you’ll find him, Colonel Holland?”
The question surprised Martin, even though it shouldn’t have. But he let none of that show, instead nodding once more in grim confidence.
“Yes. I’m afraid I’m rather more worried about your brother’s condition when we find him and not whether we will at all,” he lied. “The prospects in a situation like this get rather worse the more time goes by.”
Margaret flinched. It was apparent that she had already known that; but it was painful to hear anyway and Martin wondered if he shouldn’t have offered a more comforting answer.
Because you damn well know what his condition will be like after he’s found, no matter how he is before, a little voice in his head chided him. But he wondered all the same.
She sighed, “I envied him so much, you know. I waste away here doing nothing while Jay Thomson traipses about Europe, having adventures. Seeing the world.”
“The world isn’t all so amazing as most people seem to think, not even Europe.”
“Jay Thomson would say the same thing,” she snorted and shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a moment. It must be that you’re men, no proper sense of appreciation.”
“It can be a dangerous place too,” he pointed out, and almost instantly regretted it.
Margaret lowered her head and nodded with sad resignation. “So I am finding out.” She raised the cigarette to her lips and drew on it one more time before crushing it out and flicking the butt out the window.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said, “I don’t mean to be so callous.”
“No it’s all right.” She turned around and put on a lopsided small, eyes glistening with restrained tears. “I need to stop being such a silly little girl.”
“Ah…” Martin struggled to think of something to say in return, but ended up just staring stupidly back with his jaw slightly open.
After a moment Margaret straightened up and set her shoulders. “Well,” she said, giving a polite nod, “if you could refrain from any more boxing matches with the architecture. It makes quite a bit of noise downstairs.”
Martin bit his lip in helpless embarrassment as he watched her walk purposefully back out of the room and close the door behind her.
That could have gone better, he thought. Martin reached back into his pocket, but he was out of cigarettes.
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-
He paced for a few moments, but it didn’t really help and he spun to strike the column again, angry growls bubbling up from deep in his throat.
After several blows, Martin’s fists were truly bloodied and he was panting from the exertion. It took another moment to realize he had bitten through his cigarette and he stamped out the glowing embers with the toe of his shoe. He looked at the detritus on the floor, and spat out the remainders of the butt in his mouth too. He could clean it up later, or one of the maids would deal with it.
For the moment, he dug in his breast pocket for another cigarette and lit it with a match from the little book on the nightstand. He flicked the spent match to the floor along with the last cigarette. A deep drag calmed him and his ragged breathing slowed somewhat as the smoke filled his lungs and was then expelled. Martin took a minute to tear up one of his spare undershirts and use the strips to wrap his hands.
Rather than continuing to punish the column and his fists, Martin opened the window and leaned on his palms against the sill. The sun was just sinking below the horizon but Martin had been put up in the east wing of the Blake manor and the sky outside his window was the deep blue color of early night. The moon was bright and full just above the tree line; Martin tapped some ashes into the bushes below while he considered it.
It’s like that night in Madrid he thought sourly and returned the cigarette to his lips. It surprised him how quickly he’d come to resent those early years of his career. For a time, the Service hadn’t been able to get enough of him, and Martin had been naïve enough to think it would last. Madrid had landed him behind a desk, but at least it had been a prestige appointment, recognition of his ability. But removal from the field allowed his star to fade, and now that desk had made him a scapegoat and earned him the distinct dishonor of a return to the field in what no one would mistake for anything but a shit assignment.
Martin told himself that he wouldn’t feel so put upon if the people who had taken his place showed the least sign that they knew their asses from their elbows in dealing with this case. Unfortunately, he’d been having a conversation not three hours ago with some rather monumental evidence that his bosses were the worst kind of ineffective buffoons. Martin was fighting very hard against the urge to book a train back to London and throttle Jamie Hodgeson himself.
His anger was threatening to boil over again when the door to the room opened. Forgetting himself, he turned towards the noise with a snarl.
Margaret Blake, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow at him, “And good evening to you as well, Colonel Holland.” The sarcasm dripping from beneath her sugary words could not go unnoticed.
The anger drained out of Martin in the blink of an eye, and was replaced by ice water running up his spine. He straightened his pose and coughed into a hand before speaking. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Blake. I’m afraid I was caught up in my thoughts. Good evening.”
The chuckle of laughter was visible in Margaret’s eyes, even though she let nothing of the sort pass her lips. “And, if I might ask, would these thoughts have anything to do with Miss Stonewell? Father and I have just finished seeing her and her brother off.”
Martin turned away from her, back towards the window. It wasn’t proper behavior, but he could feel himself flushing with rage again.
“My people dropped the ball. We didn’t know Miss Stonewell had even left Germany, much less that she might be attending Mr. Perry’s funeral. I would have told you otherwise.” And she could believe as much of that as she wanted. Some of it might even be true, Martin thought. He certainly wouldn’t be surprised if the error went beyond his superiors simply forgetting to keep him informed.
Margaret made a noncommittal noise to which Martin could think of no response. Neither of them said anything for a minute or two, but Martin could hear her walking up behind him at a slow and deliberate pace.
He took a deep breath and shuffled aside slightly as she came up beside him and leaned out the window as he had before. She rested her chin on her palms and looked out blankly over the dark estate.
After a while, “Could I have one of those?”
“Huh?” Martin’s thoughts had been drifting again.
“Your cigarettes, may I have one?” she swiveled her head around to look up at him.
Martin blinked; “Er…” he fished in his pocket again for one of the little rolls of tobacco and handed it to her. Then he thoughtfully passed on the book of matches too.
She took one and struck it smoothly then brought it to her mouth to light the paper. Martin’s cigarettes were rolled too big for anything a woman should smoke, but it hadn’t been something he’d planned, and there wasn’t anything to do about it now.
Margaret inhaled the blue smoke then coughed a little.
“Don’t tell Mother about this,” she said, “but I’m starting to see why Father and Stephanie and you go through so many of these things.” She looked at the little burning stick between her fingers, “They do help with the nerves, don’t they?”
Martin was starting to suspect that his tobacco intake did not the least bit of good for his nerves, but he nodded anyway.
So did Margaret, in silent agreement, and she puffed on Martin’s cigarette a few more times. She was gazing into space at the wall just beyond his head, and Martin wondered what she was thinking.
“Do you really think you’ll find him, Colonel Holland?”
The question surprised Martin, even though it shouldn’t have. But he let none of that show, instead nodding once more in grim confidence.
“Yes. I’m afraid I’m rather more worried about your brother’s condition when we find him and not whether we will at all,” he lied. “The prospects in a situation like this get rather worse the more time goes by.”
Margaret flinched. It was apparent that she had already known that; but it was painful to hear anyway and Martin wondered if he shouldn’t have offered a more comforting answer.
Because you damn well know what his condition will be like after he’s found, no matter how he is before, a little voice in his head chided him. But he wondered all the same.
She sighed, “I envied him so much, you know. I waste away here doing nothing while Jay Thomson traipses about Europe, having adventures. Seeing the world.”
“The world isn’t all so amazing as most people seem to think, not even Europe.”
“Jay Thomson would say the same thing,” she snorted and shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a moment. It must be that you’re men, no proper sense of appreciation.”
“It can be a dangerous place too,” he pointed out, and almost instantly regretted it.
Margaret lowered her head and nodded with sad resignation. “So I am finding out.” She raised the cigarette to her lips and drew on it one more time before crushing it out and flicking the butt out the window.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said, “I don’t mean to be so callous.”
“No it’s all right.” She turned around and put on a lopsided small, eyes glistening with restrained tears. “I need to stop being such a silly little girl.”
“Ah…” Martin struggled to think of something to say in return, but ended up just staring stupidly back with his jaw slightly open.
After a moment Margaret straightened up and set her shoulders. “Well,” she said, giving a polite nod, “if you could refrain from any more boxing matches with the architecture. It makes quite a bit of noise downstairs.”
Martin bit his lip in helpless embarrassment as he watched her walk purposefully back out of the room and close the door behind her.
That could have gone better, he thought. Martin reached back into his pocket, but he was out of cigarettes.
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-